


Entwined

by Quillbreaker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-01-24 21:50:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 48,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillbreaker/pseuds/Quillbreaker
Summary: The Japanese believe that people are predestined to meet through a red string tied to the fingers of those who find each other in life. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or e beauty of the story is that although the strings can sometimes stretch and become tangled, those ties will never be broken.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 177
Kudos: 913





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Life_Is_Pointless_And_Absurd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Life_Is_Pointless_And_Absurd/gifts), [StarOfFeanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarOfFeanor/gifts), [Artisan03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artisan03/gifts), [Cocaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocaya/gifts), [Whackink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whackink/gifts), [PT8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PT8/gifts), [Verity_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verity_Black/gifts), [BrightEyedAthene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightEyedAthene/gifts), [Malenda_Malfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malenda_Malfoy/gifts), [RikaAzumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RikaAzumi/gifts), [InkD00dle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkD00dle/gifts), [AliceMcLaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMcLaine/gifts).

> This is one of those ideas that just woke me up in the middle of the night and compelled me to right. It takes place after the duel Harry had with Voldemort in the graveyard and the Priori Incantatem incident in the Goblet of Fire. Hope you all enjoy all… Give me your feedback through the reviews and I'll definitely continue this… Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

He heard Voldemort scream,

"Stun him!"

Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel and bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him.

"Impedimenta!"

From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of them, but there was no time to turn and look; he jumped over the Cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab Cedric's arm as Voldemort shrieked,

"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!"

Harry's hand had closed on Cedric's wrist; one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, and the Cup was out of reach.

Voldemort's red eyes flamed in the darkness. Harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand.

"Accio!"

Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup. It flew into the air, and soared towards him… His heart jackhammered in his chest as he caught it by the handle…

But nothing happened…

His last hope of escaping was gone… The handle slipped out of his numb fingers and his head fell in defeat. In the background, the death eaters jeered and shouted as he heard Voldemort approach him,

"Are you quite done with trying to escape, Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes as he let go of Cedric's lifeless arm… The sense of failure weighed heavy on his soul. He'd failed him… He'd failed Cedric…

The despair that filled him was a heady blackness; the means of escape he'd thought possible had vanished to black, not blocked, but like they had never been there at all. The notion of hope became meaningless, and if his mind tried to linger on such ideas they started to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as any desert mirage. The bonds he had, the ones that kept his heart beating, felt so thin and frail and even they were a terrible weight.

At least, he wouldn't have to live with his sense of failure… He wouldn't have to face Cedric's parents… Voldemort was going to kill him… He was going to die.

And that didn't bother him. It should but it didn't. His mind felt oddly calm and relaxed even though his treacherous heart was trying to escape his body. It was struggling to beat its way out of his chest.

He could still feel the warmth of his wand between his fingers but what good would it do him now? He could fight but it would only serve to prolong his death. There was no escape from here…Not for him at least…

He felt the tip of Voldemort's wand touch his forehead. Any minute now he was going to see the green flash of light. Any minute now he was going to be gone from this world. This was the last chance he had to honour Cedric's wish. The words finally left his lips,

"I have a request."

The death eaters shouted insults at him, but a hush fell as, no doubt, Voldemort silenced them. The tip of the wand receded from his forehead and he whispered hoarsely,

"Cedric… Could you… Could you have his body delivered back to his parents?"

Voldemort was silent for a moment and then he chuckled darkly,

"What a selfless request, Harry. Even now, when you are minutes away from death… You continue to think of others…You should be more concerned about what will happen to your body once you are dead."

Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Voldemort…Meeting his crimson gaze head on as he spoke,

"I don't care about what happens to me…Not anymore… All I'm asking is that you honour my request… Please…"

_Please_… Why had he said that? Was he really that desperate? Now the death eaters would probably boast that he'd begged before he'd died. But he was desperate… Cedric had died because of him. He could have lived a long healthy life if it hadn't been for him. This was all his fault and he needed to make it right. He just had to make it right before he died.

There was utter silence in the graveyard and then Voldemort spoke,

"It shall be done."

The relief those words filled him with was indescribable. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn't know why he trusted Voldemort's words… For all he knew, the man could be lying but everything inside him was screaming that he wasn't. Voldemort was really going to honour his request.

He could die in peace now. He dropped his wand as his final act of surrender and spoke,

"Thank you."

The wand returned to his forehead and Harry closed his eyes as his life flashed in front of his eyes. All those terrible years with the Dursleys… The time he'd read his Hogwarts acceptance letter… The first time he'd held his wand… The first time he'd seen Hedwig… The time when he'd met Ron and Hermione… All the moments he'd shared with them… He remembered his first time on a broomstick… He remembered the twins… He saw their smiling faces… Remembered all their jokes… He saw Sirius and Remus… He saw Hogwarts… All the corridors…The grounds… Hagrid… Professor Dumbledore…Professor McGonigal… Even Snape…

It was strange how many memories he'd accumulated in his short life span and yet how fast they'd flashed inside his head. He was glad that he'd met the people he'd met… He was glad that he had people who cared about him… Who would probably be sad at his demise… Who would look for him if Voldemort burnt his body or left him to rot in this graveyard or worse… A decent burial was out of the question for him. Voldemort hated him too much and Harry was certain that his death would not be enough to satiate his desire for revenge.

He drew in one last shaky breath and then a flash of light behind his closed lids threw everything into immaculate darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am seriously overwhelmed with the response I got on this. Thank you soooooooooooo much for your love and support. It's the only thing that keeps me motivated enough to write. You guys are the best. Hope you continue to enjoy this. Love you all.

Harry felt so warm, so very sleepy, that he didn't open his eyes. His head felt like it was filled with cotton and his body…well he couldn't feel it at all. Was this what death was supposed to feel like? Had he already been buried?

Voices, dim and distant, reached him. That wasn't right… Couldn't be…

And as the fact that he was alive registered in his mind… He instantly felt the aches and pains… There wasn't a part of him that wasn't aching. And those aches were enough to bring him to full alertness. A cold sweat washed over his face and chest… his heart trying desperately to escape through his throat the first chance it could get.

Voldemort… The death eaters… Cedric… The graveyard… All that torture and pain…

It all flashed in front of his eyes in quick succession and he struggled to breathe as the memories constricted his chest…

He felt someone patting his cheek,

"Harry… Harry, wake up… It's okay… It's just a nightmare…"

Harry eyes flew open and the first thing he saw were Sirius's intense grey eyes. The fear seeped out of his body, giving way to confusion as he sank back on the bed. Sirius cupped his face,

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry looked away from Sirius and took in his surroundings. He was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Moody stood behind Sirius and were regarding him concernedly. Harry closed his eyes as he drew in several deep breaths.

There were too many thoughts running through his head, and it was difficult to pinpoint just one. How was he still alive? Voldemort had been hell bent on killing him. Where was Cedric? How had he gotten here? What was going on?

Had it all been a nightmare?

No…He remembered it too vividly. It couldn't have been just a nightmare. Voldemort was really back. He had to tell Professor Dumbledore. He had to tell everyone.

He was just going to say it when something stopped him and he cursed himself internally. Why was it so difficult?

Sirius's voice brought his thoughts to a pause,

"You bled a lot, Harry… It's okay to feel a little disoriented."

He'd bled a lot? How did that happen? It didn't make any sense…

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Sirius in confusion. Sirius frowned as he probably realized he didn't remember and then spoke,

"The spider injured your leg. You passed out from the blood loss."

Harry pulled the covers away from his leg to take a look and sure enough his leg was bandaged. Sirius reset the covers and took his hand,

"Harry… Are you okay?"

Harry could only nod as he tried to discern fiction from reality… Nothing was making any sense and it was making his head spin…Had he really just dreamt about Voldemort's resurrection?

No.

It had been too real… The pain had been too real. Voldemort had been too real. He'd felt him… talked to him…

He could still hear Voldemort's voice inside his head…The feel of his wand pressed against his forehead… The conviction in his voice when he'd agreed to fulfil his request…

He finally asked,

"Who won then?"

Silence greeted his question and Harry watched the way everyone's expressions changed. Finally, Professor Dumbledore spoke,

"No one won."

Harry looked at Sirius so that he could elaborate, and Sirius didn't disappoint him,

"No one managed to reach the cup."

Harry furrowed his brow as he struggled to comprehend the meaning behind Sirius's words. The cup had been in its place then,

"Not even Cedric?"

Even saying his name out loud hurt but Harry was hoping against hope that everything had just been a nightmare and Cedric was still alive. Sirius gripped his hand tight as Professor Dumbledore spoke,

"Mr. Diggory died from a fatal blow to his chest by the spider."

Harry could only gape in surprise. Cedric was dead… Cedric was still dead and they were saying that he'd died because of the spider when that wasn't the case. Cedric had died because of a killing curse. Cedric had died because of him and he wanted to scream that fact out for the world to know.

But something kept him quiet…Something kept him silent…

Where had all these lies come from? Why had Voldemort spared him? Why had he returned him? Where was Voldemort?

His head ached from the questions…from the uncertainties… from the lies and false stories that he was slowly becoming a part of.

He couldn't understand why he was protecting Voldemort because that was what he was doing by not speaking up. Or rather, maybe he was protecting himself…Protecting himself from the blame that he would have to shoulder when the world would find out that Cedric had died because of him. Maybe he was just being selfish.

He closed his eyes as Madam Pomfrey spoke,

"He needs rest. You lot need to give him some space."

Harry felt Sirius touch his cheek,

"You're going to be okay, Harry."

Harry doubted it. Nothing was okay. Everything felt like it was in tatters. His morality was in tatters. What had Voldemort done to him?

He covered his face with his arm as he heard Sirius get up and walk away, followed by Professor Dumbledore and Mad Eye. Harry focused on the clunking of his wooden leg against the floor as he walked away until he couldn't hear it.

The silence was even more jarring, and he couldn't stand it.

Madam Pomfrey spoke softly,

"I can get you something to help you with your sleep."

Harry removed his arm from his face and looked at her,

"That would be nice, Madam Pomfrey."

Harry watched as she conjured a bottle filled with purple liquid and a goblet. She filled the goblet and handed it to him. Harry sat up straight steadily and took the goblet with both hands before downing the contents and handing the empty goblet back.

He felt himself becoming drowsy at once. Everything around him became hazy; the lamps around the hospital wing seemed to be winking at him in a friendly way. He laid down and his body felt as though it was sinking deeper into the warmth of the feather mattress.

It was some hours later when he felt someone patting his cheek and speaking,

"Its good that you kept your mouth shut, Potter. Make sure that you keep it that way. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if you announce his return… He did take mercy on you and spare you after all."

Harry struggled to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they were made out of lead and his tongue felt like it was made of stone. His head was swimming from the effects of the potion and everything still felt foggy. But he still remembered what Voldemort had said in the graveyard…

One of his death eaters were here at Hogwarts. He'd put his name in the Goblet of Fire… He'd turned the cup into a portkey… He'd delivered him to Voldemort…

"Sleep, Potter… I'm supposed to ensure your well-being now."

Before Harry could dwell on that anymore, his exhaustion had carried him off back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When he looked back, even a month later, Harry found he had few memories of the following days. It was as though he had been through too much to take in any more. The recollections he did have were very painful. The worst, perhaps, was the meeting with the Diggorys that took place the following morning so that they could inquire about his health. Mr Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears, even though they both were trying very hard to hide it.

And Harry found himself battling the urge to tell them that he was the reason their son was dead. He was the cause of all their grief. It was so difficult to bear how nice they were being to him. How concerned they were about his health. He didn't deserve it. He felt so unworthy of it.

After that he'd been thoroughly interviewed by Dumbledore and he'd lied his way through it. The smoothness with which the falsehoods flowed off his tongue bothered him, and he wanted nothing more than to die at that point, but he didn't of course.

The words he'd heard in that hazy state of mind somehow kept echoing inside his head all the time and he couldn't get rid of them,

_"Its good that you kept your mouth shut, Potter. Make sure that you keep it that way. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if you announce his return… He did take mercy on you and spare you after all."_

It felt like they were etched inside his head and he couldn't get rid of them no matter how hard he tried. But that was not the only thing that bothered him…

The real thing that bothered him was that the death eater at Hogwarts had been told to ensure his well-being by Voldemort. Why would Voldemort want him to be fine? What would he gain by it? The man was supposed to hate him… He was supposed to kill him and he had the chance to kill him. Instead, here he was…Alive and well…

It didn't make any sense…None of this made any sense…

His utter confusion and self-loathing had caused him to grow detached from everyone. He couldn't bear being around Ron and Hermione because they always badgered him about what had happened that night and he was sick and tired of telling them the same lies over and over again. He couldn't bear being around people in general now.

He preferred solitude and silence to the constant questions that followed him everywhere he went. They asked him if he'd seen Cedric get killed by the spider and he'd always said no… And saying that no took him all his strength and left him feeling drained and powerless. He was sick of reiterating the fact that he'd passed out from the blood loss before Cedric had arrived there. He was sick of the lies…He was sick of deceiving everyone…But most of all, he was sick of deceiving himself…

Voldemort hadn't left him alive out of the goodness of his heart…There had to be a reason… And he was very certain that he was going to find out what it was very soon.

The normality of everything further added to his frustration and he couldn't help but think what would have happened if he'd told everyone that Voldemort was back and Cedric had died from the killing curse…

Everything would have been in chaos… Everyone would have been scared… Well maybe not quite everyone. He wasn't delusional enough to think that everyone would believe him but most people probably would since he was the bloody boy who lived and all that rubbish.

If it were up to him, he wished he'd died that night as a baby. Maybe then Cedric would still have been alive now and he wouldn't be going through this confusion and guilt.

His classes went on usual and the end of term just flew by until it was time to go back to Privet Drive for the summer.

His trunk was packed; Hedwig was back in her cage on top of it. He, Ron and Hermione were waiting in the crowded Entrance Hall with the rest of the fourth-years for the carriages that would take them back to Hogsmeade station. It was more out of compulsion then out of friendship. He just wanted to be left alone but being alone would make him more noticeable and so he struggled to act as normal as possibly could without raising too much suspicion.

It was another summer's day. He supposed that Privet Drive would be hot and leafy, its flowerbeds a riot of colour, when he arrived there that evening. The thought gave him no pleasure at all.

Nothing gave him any pleasure at all… It was as if Voldemort had sapped every drop of happiness from his body and replaced it with guilt and puzzlement. The weather could not have been more different on the journey back to King's Cross than it had been on their way to Hogwarts the previous September. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Harry, Ron and Hermione had managed to get a compartment to themselves. Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Ron's dress robes to stop him hooting continually; Hedwig was dozing, her head under her wing, and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion. Harry managed to participate in the conversations that were going on between them as the train sped them southwards and he was certain that he'd managed to convince Ron and Hermione that he was okay…

Something weird happened though that significantly increased his doubts and reservations… He ran into Draco who was accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle as usual, when he stepped out of the compartment to buy snacks from the trolley. He knew for the fact that all their fathers had been present had Voldemort's rebirthing ceremony and it seemed they knew that he knew. Harry expected them to insult him or throw some snide remarks his way but the fear that crossed their faces at the sight of him was something he'd thought he'd never see. The way they rushed away from him bothered him more than their insults ever had. He was glad that Ron and Hermione hadn't witnessed that.

The train reached the station and Uncle Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier. Mrs Weasley was close by him. She hugged him very tightly when she saw him, and whispered in his ear,

"I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry."

No…As much as would have loved the idea a year ago…He didn't find it appealing now. Being around Mr and Mrs Weasley was only going to add to his guilt and make him feel more like a traitor than ever. Ron, clapped him on the back,

"Bye, Harry!"

Hermione did something she had never done before and kissed him on the cheek,

"Take care of yourself."

When he was done with goodbyes, he turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. Somehow, now he felt more vulnerable than ever as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car. Every nerve in his body was screaming that Voldemort wasn't going to leave him free.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a grand structure; all shiny, pitch black until he lifted the fall. And then the row of pure ivory keys marched into view. They shimmered in the sparkling light as if they were the moon on a starry night; bright, beautiful, and breath-taking. And the sound they created… oh the music they sang… It was more magical than magic itself.

He took a seat on the red velvet cushioned stool and ran his fingers over the keys… It was a while since he'd played… Thirteen years to be exact… He wondered if he remembered how to play…

It turned out that he did because only minutes later, his fingers were flying over the keys, producing a hauntingly dark melody that echoed off the stone walls and grew more impactful.

It was so easy to lose himself into the music…So easy to simply set everything aside and focus on the composition that he was playing. It was almost cathartic as he poured all his darkness into the keys and watched the piano turn it into something mesmerizingly beautiful.

He felt melancholic as the composition began to wind down and as he struck the final note, he felt anywhere near satiated, but it would have to suffice for now. There were things that he needed to tend to…Matters that he had to handle… Plans that needed to be made and issues that needed to be resolved…

Issues…

There were several of them but there was only one among them that truly irked him. He rose from the stool and strode out of the room. He had been about to turn this castle into his headquarters when fate had intervened.

He had declared this castle as his headquarters two days ago. But in addition to being his headquarters… this was his home and he preferred the silence that inhabited it to the noise of the death eaters. That was why…they were not allowed to be here unless summoned.

He made his way to his library that also served as his study room. It was perhaps his most favorite part of the castle. His ebony desk shone in the light from the crystal chandeliers but that was not what caught his attention…No… His attention was claimed by the glass flask filled with the silvery contents that swirled inside and gleamed wickedly.

The memories he'd taken from the boy before sparing him.

He wondered why he had done that? Taken his memories and then spared him… It hardly made any sense, but he had learned long ago that not all decisions needed to make sense…. In fact, some of the most sensible decisions made no sense whatsoever…

And that had been proven correct when he'd gone through the boy's memories. He had not been expecting Dumbledore to leave him at the mercy of his muggle relatives, who by the looks of it, despised magic with a passion… If anything, he had presumed that the boy would have been raised as nothing less than a prince. The boy's miserable childhood had disappointed him and somewhat dampened his need for revenge.

But his need for revenge had only been dampened…it had not been erased completely. He had plans for him. So far, the boy had proved that he could keep his mouth shut and he had also proved that he had not taken his mercy lightly. Barty had been keeping an eye on him at Hogwarts and had provided him with regular updates on him. He had strictly ordered him to ensure the boy's well being and silence him if he even attempted to speak up about his return.

He had been pleased to know that the boy hadn't even attempted to say anything… Not even once… He was slightly impressed with the boy's ability to lie. It proved that he wasn't in Dumbledore's power as much as he'd originally assumed, which would only serve his plans all the more in the long term.

Another thing that he'd learned from the boy's memories was the destruction of one of his horcruxes… His Diary… He'd left it in Lucius's care expecting him to protect it with his life. He had hugely misjudged his loyalty and had vowed never to make that mistake again while he'd punished Lucius for his carelessness.

The boy had returned to his muggle relatives today to spend his summer holidays. He had all the intentions to keep him under surveillance there as well. The boy would prove to be very useful to his cause in the future.

He walked towards the desk and picked up the glass flask, running his finger over the cold, smooth surface as he stared at the silvery contents. He was going to make the boy pay for all the years he'd lost… He was going to make him suffer for every day he'd spent as a shapeless, formless creature… He was going to change him…distort him… corrupt him… so much so that he wasn't going to be able to recognize himself… He already had a head start on that front. The boy had gone against his inherent nature as he'd forced himself into silence and deceived everyone into believing the lies that he had planted.

He was well aware of the turmoil the boy was going through and that was his first punishment…The mental torment, his deception was causing him would continue to gnaw at him from the inside. He had successfully stolen the boy's peace of mind, but this was only the first step. He intended to steal a lot more from him…He was going to strip him bare of anything that brought him comfort. He was going to snatch away every thing, every person, every moral value that he held so dear and the best part was…

The best part was that the boy was going to aid him in it… He was going to cooperate with him… He was going to actively partake in his own destruction…


	5. Chapter 5

He had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening, he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.

On the whole, he thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth but, on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch television with his aunt and uncle.

The opening notes of the music that heralded the seven o'clock news reached Harry's ears and his stomach turned over. Perhaps tonight…after two weeks of waiting… would be the night,

"Record numbers of stranded holidaymakers fill airports as the Spanish baggage-handlers' strike reaches its second week…"

Uncle Vernon snarled over the end of the newsreader's sentence,

"Give 'em a lifelong siesta, I would, but no matter…"

Outside in the flowerbed, Harry's stomach seemed to unclench. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important than stranded holidaymakers.

He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again … and always, growing more insistent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet… Why was Voldemort so quiet?

It wasn't as if he wanted to do something because surely if he did, the blame would all be his… If Voldemort decided to go on a killing spree with his death eaters…That would be entirely his fault because he'd sealed his mouth shut like a coward and failed to alert everyone to the threat just looming out of view in the shadows.

Voldemort was out there, and Harry was fairly certain that his silence wasn't because the man had decided to denounce his old ways and gone into retirement… Evil Dark Lords didn't do that… No…Voldemort was planning something big and Harry feared the day he would put his plans into action.

Harry opened his eyes. there was going to be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under the window. He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick succession.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath and the sound of breaking china came from the Dursleys' living room, and as though this was the signal Harry had been waiting for he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing a sword… but before he could draw himself up to full height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys' open window. The resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he had barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat,

"Put – it – away!"

Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear,

"Now! Before… anyone… sees!"

Harry gasped,

"Get… off… me!"

For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncle's sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock. It was as some invisible force seemed to have surged through him, making it impossible to hold him.

Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent,

"Lovely evening!"

Shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs Number Seven opposite, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. He had decided that this was his chance to escape. Before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street. He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later, but he didn't care very much just at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.

Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred, he wheeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisible.

A darker possibility crossed his mind… Was Voldemort here? Harry snorted at his own naivety. If Voldemort was here, he'd probably feel his presence. No…Voldemort wasn't here but maybe he was having a death eater follow him. Maybe he'd sent a death eater to get him.

He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunts automatically. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical…Possibly a death eater had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dying begonias, he was sure of it.

But if it was a death eater then why hadn't they done anything? He couldn't understand why Voldemort would send a death eater to simply follow him around… It didn't make any sense.

And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his certainty leaked away. Perhaps it hadn't been a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so desperate for the tiniest sign of contact from the world to which he belonged that he was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. Could he be sure it hadn't been the sound of something breaking inside a neighbour's house?

Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and before he knew it the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer rolled over him once again. Tomorrow morning, he would be woken by the alarm at five o'clock so he could pay the owl that delivered the Daily Prophet… He only ever looked at it to ascertain if Voldemort hadn't surfaced. The fear he felt when he unrolled the paper to look at the first page was indescribable and the relief that washed through him when he saw that it was only normal news was pure bliss.

But that bliss never lasted long because the fear came back…stronger than before and all the more potent as it overwhelmed him. Voldemort was going to act one day. What would he do then?

Ron and Hermione wrote to him regularly, but their letters brought him no comfort. If anything, they only served to alleviate his guilt and left him feeling horrible.

His mind drifted back to the question that had been haunting him since the night he'd woken up in the hospital wing and realized that Voldemort had allowed him to live… What was Voldemort going to do to him?

For a moment all the memories from the graveyard flashed in front of his eyes.

_Don't think about that_

He told himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too.

He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent and turned into Magnolia Road and headed towards the darkening play park.

Harry vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets. When he reached the swings he sank on to the only one that Dudley and his friends had not yet managed to break, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. He would not be able to hide in the Dursleys' flowerbed again. Tomorrow, he would have to think of some fresh way of listening to the news.

In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, because even when he escaped the nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake.

The sultry, velvety night fell around him, the air full of the smell of warm, dry grass, and the only sound was that of the low grumble of traffic on the road beyond the park railings. He didn't know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted his musings and he looked up.

The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along. Harry knew who those people were.

The figure in front was unmistakably his cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang. Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting and the discovery of a new talent had wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast. 'The noble sport', as Uncle Vernon called it, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Harry in their primary school days when he had served as Dudley's first punchball.

He wasn't remotely afraid of his cousin any more but he still didn't think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighborhood children all around were terrified of him… even more terrified than they were of 'that Potter boy' who, they had been warned, was a hardened hooligan and attended St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they had been beating up tonight.

_Look around…_

Harry found himself thinking as he watched them.

_Come on … look round … I'm sitting here all alone … come and have a go …_

If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but he'd be terrified of provoking Harry … it would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma, to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond … and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, he was ready – he had his wand. Let them try … he'd love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell.

As they got closer, Harry could hear snippets of their conversation,

"He squealed like a pig, didn't he? "

"Yeah, brilliant punch, Big D."

"Did you see his face?"

"This one deserved it."

And then they were standing inches away from him and Harry couldn't resist as he spoke,

"'Hey, Big D!"

Dudley turned his attention to him as he grunted,

"Oh… It's you."

Harry grinned cheekily,

"How long have you been "Big D" then?"

Dudley snarled as he turned away and back towards his friends.

"Shut it."

Gordon spoke up,

"Maybe you ought to teach your cousin a lesson, Big D."

Harry's grin widened,

"It's a cool name… but you'll always be "Ickle Diddykins" to me."

Dudley turned back to face him,

"I said, SHUT IT!"

Harry noticed that his ham-like hands had curled into fists. Harry looked past him, towards his friends before getting up from the swing and approaching him. Then he whispered conspiratorially in his ear,

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

Dudley snapped,

"Shut your face."

Harry teased,

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about "Popkin" and "Dinky Diddydums", can I use them then?"

Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting him seemed to demand all his self-control. He allowed his grin to fade as he inquired,

"So, who've you been beating up tonight?' Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago…"

Dudley snarled,

"He was asking for it."

Harry batted his eyelashes as he feigned confusion,

"Oh yeah?"

Dudley bit out,

"He cheeked me."

Harry stepped closer to him,

'Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? Because that's not cheek, Dud, that's true."

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had… His friends were yelling at him to beat the living daylight out of him, but Harry knew that Dudley was too scared of his wand. Maybe that wasn't prepared for the dark smirk that crossed his face as he spoke,

"Well, you're one to talk. Moaning in your sleep every night? At least I'm not afraid of my pillow…_Don't kill Cedric_… Who's Cedric, your boyfriend?"

Harry felt his cheeks warm up. He hadn't known he'd been loud enough in his nightmares that Dudley had been able to hear him,

"Shut up."

Dudley chuckled darkly as he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and continued his taunting,

"_He's going to kill me_, _Mum_…Where is your mum? Where is your mum, Potter? She dead? Is she dead?"

Harry felt absolutely mortified. Just how loud had he been during his nightmares? How much had Dudley heard?

He was about to retort when he felt Dudley's friends restrain him. He struggled to break free…struggled to move but their hold was just too strong…If only his arms were free so that he could get to his wand.

Dudley raised his fist and was about to punch him when Harry closed his eyes reflexively…But the pain he'd been expecting didn't come as an unfamiliar voice spoke loudly,

"You'll leave him alone if you know what's best for you."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry saw the look of absolute fear that crossed Dudley's face as his arm fell. That look could only be caused by one thing… The person standing behind him was holding a wand. Dudley took a couple of staggering steps back and spoke hoarsely,

"Let's go guys."

Gordon yelled,

"I say that we beat the hell out of him."

Dudley's face was flushed with a mixture of humiliation and rage as he spoke,

"LET'S GO NOW!"

Harry was dropped roughly on the ground as Dudley ran out of the park with his friends trailing behind him. Harry rose to his feet and dusted off his clothes before turning around and coming face to face with an ethereally handsome man.

He had sharp cheekbones, dark brown eyes, voracious red lips, an aquiline nose and dark inky black hair that was tied at his nape with a black silk ribbon. He was dressed in a royal blue three piece pinstripe suit that looked like it had been sewn on him.

He should have looked out of place in this dusty park, but he stood there like he owned it. The man was exuding pure power and Harry felt that power resonate throughout his body. He had an air of regal supremacy about him and Harry couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth,

"Who are you?"

The man's lips curled into a smile and he simply regarded him for a moment before speaking,

"We have already met."

His voice was velvety smooth and so very deep. Harry broke free of the trance; the voice had cast over him and tried to make sense of the words. He would have remembered meeting someone like him. The man took a few steps closer to him and Harry resisted the urge to take a few steps back,

"I don't know you."

The man chuckled in amusement like he'd just heard a really good joke and then said,

"Have you truly forgotten me? Do I not plague all your thoughts? Do I not haunt your nightmares?"

Harry couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped his lips as realization struck him like a bolt of lightening and turned his thoughts to ash… Fear took control of his body and every part of him was yelling at him to run but in between his flight and fight instinct…fight won and Harry damned his own foolish bravery,

"V…"

Voldemort clamped his hand clamped tight over his mouth as he closed the remaining distance between them and grabbed him around the waist as he held him in place. The pain Harry had been expecting at Voldemort's touch didn't come…In fact, his scar was supposed to hurt just by being in his presence, but it wasn't… Voldemort looked like a normal human being… He sounded like a normal human being… He felt like a normal human being…Except for there was nothing normal about him or this. He felt more powerful than he had that night. He was no longer the snake like human he remembered unless…

"You will address me as Sir or Master."

Voldemort's words dragged him out of his thoughts and he shook his head mutely. Voldemort laughed darkly before Harry felt the overwhelming pain that sparked to life inside him. It started like a small burning, tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout his body, growing all the more intense and all consuming. It felt like his insides were being doused in acid and he couldn't breathe…

His screamed but they were muffled by Voldemort's hand. His knees gave out but Voldemort held him up. He kicked his feet involuntarily as his body writhed in Voldemort's hold while he screamed in agony. Voldemort held on tight to him through it all and then the pain ended as soon as it had started and Harry found himself leaning completely against Voldemort's body as he fought to catch his breath,

"Must I repeat myself, Harry?"

Harry tried to push away from Voldemort, but his knees weakened, and he was about to fall when Voldemort grabbed him again,

"Harry… It shall give me immense pleasure to repeat that."

Harry managed to stand up on his feet as he panted,

"What do you want from me?"

A truly demonic grin lit up Voldemort's face as he spoke,

"I believe the more relevant question is… What do I want _for_ you?"

Harry ran a hand over his face shakily as he struggled to compose himself. His body was trembling uncontrollably, and he was having a hard time standing upright. He struggled to speak but his head was spinning, and it was difficult to grab onto a single thought let alone put it into words. Voldemort grabbed him by his upper arms and spoke,

"Harry… Look at me."

Harry closed his eyes but forced them open when his brain replayed the pain, he'd just experienced. Voldemort patted him on the cheek and whispered softly,

"Good boy… Now how shall you address me?"

Harry gnashed his teeth as he bit back the insults that were sitting on the tip of his tongue. A pleased smirk lit up Voldemort's face as he spoke,

"You're more sensible than I originally thought."

He released him and Harry felt himself sway on the spot before he reached blindly and grabbed a hold of the swing pole,

"You must wonder why I spared you that night…"

Harry couldn't help but nod reluctantly as his curiosity took control of him. Voldemort tapped his finger against his lips before speaking,

"That is something for me to know and you to find out, Harry."

Harry glared at him and focused every bit of disdain he felt into it. Voldemort merely shrugged as he spoke,

"I am not a slave to your whims, Harry… Rather you are a slave to mine now."


	7. Chapter 7

He was skinny, bespectacled and had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who had grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. The only thing mildly attractive about him was his emerald green eyes and his raven black hair. He had grown slightly weaker and looked paler than the last time he'd seen him in the graveyard.

He watched him as he stood there, leaning heavily against the swing pole as he fought to catch his breath after the pain he'd inflicted on him. He stepped closer to him and felt satisfaction blossom in his heart as he watched the way the boy flinched.

He hadn't meant to confront him today… He had simply wanted to watch him. But the situation had forced him to reveal himself. The right to hurt the boy belonged to him and him alone…Physically, mentally and emotionally. He was not going to allow anyone to steal that right from him.

The boy attempted to back away as he stepped into his personal space but the pole kept him in place long enough for him to grab a hold of his chin and tilt his head back to reveal his neck and the purplish finger sized bruises that had blossomed there.

He didn't have a doubt in his mind regarding the identity of the person to whom those fingers belonged to. He had seen the boy's memories enough time to know that his uncle had a knack for strangling him. The boy's cheeks flushed with humiliation as he no doubt realized what he was examining and squeezed his eyes shut.

He traced the bruises with his free hand and pressed on them slightly just so he could savour the way, the boy's features scrunched up with pain. The boy's breath hitched in his throat as he moved his hand away from his neck and then without warning, he snatched his wand from the back pocket of his jeans.

That seemed to have penetrated the web of fear he'd spun around the boy because the boy immediately protested,

"You can't have that…Give it back."

The boy's naiveté was endearing. The fact that he still believed he had some control over his circumstances told him everything he needed to know about the boy's ignorance.

He spun his wand between his fingers as he grabbed the boy around his throat,

"What did I just tell you, Harry?"

The boy's eyes were glowing with helpless frustration as he no doubt struggled to decide his next course of action. He applied a little pressure on his throat to constrict his breathing and spoke,

"Choose your words very wisely."

The boy's Adam's apple bobbed underneath his palm as he gulped. When it became evident that the boy wasn't going to say anything, he spoke,

"Good… Your well-being relies heavily on your silence."

He loosened his grip on his throat and then inquired,

"What caused these bruises?"

Uncertainty flashed through the boy's eyes and flitted across his face. It was amusing… The way the boy's thoughts showed on his face was highly amusing,

"I expect an answer now, Harry."

The boy cleared his throat before speaking hoarsely,

"Nothing."

He feigned disappointment and tsked,

"I want the truth."

Once again, he saw a mixture of helplessness and frustration flood the boy's eyes before he spoke,

"My Uncle…"

It was not difficult for him to act surprised as he spoke,

"Your Uncle did that to you?"

The boy nodded slightly as he looked utterly embarrassed. He waved his wand in front of his eyes and then inquired,

"Why did you not use your wand to protect yourself?"

The boy mumbled nonsense about magical laws and he resisted the urge to strike him. It seemed he had a lot of work to do before the boy was anywhere near what he had imagined for him,

He closed his eyes as he tightened his hold on the boy's wand and felt it…The trace that had been placed on it. It would certainly alert the ministry if the boy cast any spell in the muggle world. It would also alert them if he attempted to remove it.

Opening his eyes, he slipped the wand between the boy's numb fingers and spoke,

"Why do you even keep it with you when you cannot use it?"

The boy lowered his gaze in defeat and then sighed,

"It's not my fault that I have to spend my summers here…"

He gripped his chin tight just to remind him what he had missed, and the boy quickly realized his mistake and added,

"Sir…"

He loosened his hold and chuckled darkly,

"You are a fast learner. That shall definitely help."

He took a step away from him and regarded the boy again. Everything about his posture screamed that he'd admitted his defeat and surrendered to his will…. At least for the moment. That was more progress than he had intended.

He released his chin altogether and took a couple of steps away from him. The boy hastily replaced his wand in the pocket of his jeans and then inquired,

"Help with that, Sir?"

He laughed at that,

"You shall know everything in due time. In the meantime, I want you to ponder why you are here."

Puzzlement clouded the boy's expressions as he asked,

"Here?"

He nodded,

"Yes… You just stated that it is not your fault that you have to spend your summers here… I want you to think about whose fault it actually is. I shall expect an answer with logical reasoning, the next we meet."

The boy twisted his hands nervously and it was so easy to see the fear that overtook him.

Good…He wanted him to be afraid…

Leaving the boy to his thoughts, he disapparated.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been incredibly difficult to shake off the sheer terror that had gripped him in Voldemort's presence after his departure… The main thing that absolutely terrified him was that Voldemort had told him that he would meet him again. That couldn't happen… He couldn't see the man again. He couldn't stand being near him again.

Getting back to Privet Drive had been a battle in itself… Weakened by the pain Voldemort had inflicted on him, he felt close enough to fainting. He considered it nothing short of a miracle when he managed to haul himself through the front door and was about to make his way up the stairs when Dudley came to stand in front of him and grabbed him by the collar of his T-shirt. The ugly grin on his face was the one cats usually had when they caught a hold of a practically juicy mouse,

"Not so brave now, are you Potter?"

As much as he wanted to shove Dudley away, he couldn't…His arms felt too heavy and his vision kept swimming in and out of focus. The pain that blazed up his jaw as Dudley's fist connected with it shook him out of his weakened state. And he raised his arms up to defend himself instinctively.

He felt the weight of his wand in the back pocket of his jeans, but he wasn't going to pull it out. He didn't need magic to defend himself. He slammed his fist into Dudley's face. That seemed to have taken him off guard. Harry tasted the bitter, metallic taste overwhelm his senses as blood pooled in his mouth and he gagged. They stumbled apart for a brief second to catch their breaths before diving back at each other, eyes narrowed in determination.

He dodged his fist and came up with his own; for a brief instant, Dudley's cerulean blue eyes widened before he managed to tilt his head back and slammed it into his. Stars burst in his vision, but he shook it off, blinding throwing a sloppy kick. He stepped back, easily evading the kick and crowed, smirking infuriatingly at him

"Is that all you got, Potter?"

He growled and threw himself at him, changing direction at the last minute. His blood hummed in my veins as determination and anger took over…

"What the bloody hell is going on here?"

His uncle grabbed him by the back of his T-shirt and slammed him head first against the wall as he growled into his ear,

"You ungrateful little bastard. You eat our food, live under our roof and have the audacity to raise your fists against us."

He was having a hard time getting over the ringing in his ears and the pain that was just throbbing in his head. The darkness that crept up at the corners of his eyes seemed to grow as the adrenaline drained out of his body, leaving it weak and lifeless.

He hadn't even recovered fully from the first hit, when he felt his uncle grip the back of his head by the hair and slammed it once again into the wall. Something warm trickled down the side of his head as the darkness finally took over.

His uncle let go of him and he simply melted to the floor…His aunt's horrified gasp rang in his ears as she whispered,

"Vernon…What…what have you done? Is he… Oh my God…Is he dead?"

Harry hazily wished he was… He wanted to die… He craved the eternal peace that death promised….No Voldemort, no Dumbledore, no bloody expectations or lies… He was sick and tired of everything. He was tired of breathing…

There was the sound of thudding footsteps as his uncle no doubt stepped closer to him. He felt his fingers probe his neck and then heard him grunt out,

"He's alive."

He almost sounded relieved and Harry felt disappointed. His death would have been the best revenge. The Dursley's would have been accused of murder and they all would have been sent to jail. It would have been so right but it was nowhere close enough to what they truly deserved. They just deserved to die…He wished they were dead… It would only take one curse…Just one…

His thoughts came to a halt as he realized what he'd been thinking…

No…

Darkness enveloped his thoughts, and everything drowned into oblivion…But that didn't last…He heard snatches of unfamiliar conversations… swatches of lights and colours.

Everything inside his head felt too twisted…It was like his thoughts were silk strands that had been tangled hopelessly but through all that entanglement came a clarity…

Voldemort's question rang in his overstuffed head over and over again. It felt as he was trapped in a labyrinth and Voldemort's voice was beckoning him to the exit…

Whose fault was it? Whose fault was it that he was stuck here…trapped with people who had never treated him as a human?

Voldemort

That was the answer that his brain came up with. If that man hadn't tried to kill him as a child, if his parents had been alive, he wouldn't have been here. He wouldn't have had the life he had now. He would have been happy.

But somehow, a part of his brain refuted that. What Voldemort had done had been done. He'd been vanquished so it had been Dumbledore's job to take care of him. It had been Dumbledore's job to ensure his wellbeing... But what had the man done? He'd left him at the doorstep of these monsters and then claimed that he'd done it for his own good. He'd said that he was safe here. Dumbledore had said that Voldemort or his followers couldn't hurt him here but what of the people that resided in the house. He refused to believe that Dumbledore wasn't aware of what happened to him during the summers. The man knew everything. He just pretended to play dumb.

He wasn't even sure if the house could protect him from Voldemort.

It probably couldn't…That had been a lie, just like everything else.

What the hell was he thinking?

Voldemort had been manipulating him and he was playing right into his hands by thinking like this….

The darkness grew stronger once more and enveloped his thoughts as everything simply faded back into oblivion.


	9. Chapter 9

He walked over the lush green grass of the lawns of his castle as something niggled at him. The night was darker with thick, heavy clouds. He couldn't help but compare the night with his own state of mind. Something was bothering him. Something was hurting him. Something ached inside him. Something felt so wrong, so invalid but he could not tell what. He tried to pin point the cause for this unexplained pain but failed. He tried to reason this unbearable burning but didn't find any. Everything felt so disordered, just like a jumbled set of a puzzle. A puzzle that he didn't quite know how to solve.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd been feeling this way since he'd returned after visiting the boy. He had to assume that it had something to do with him.

Well… There was no other solution than to visit the boy again. Perhaps this restlessness would leave him then. He could send a death eater to check up on him…Barty would be a good choice but he didn't quite trust him. He could not trust any of his death eaters with the boy because he knew they would be inclined to harm him and he could not blame them…Sometimes, the urge to torture the boy preceded all his common sense as well. But the boy was an asset and he was valuable to his cause for the time being and therefore ensuring his well being was absolutely essential.

No, he would simply have to go personally.

It took him a minute to apparate himself to the street where the boy lived. He walked over the pavement until he was standing in front of the house. It had rumoured that blood wards surrounded this place so that he could not enter. He smirked to himself as he felt the boy's blood sing in his veins. Maybe Dumbledore really had intended to keep the boy safe but all the measures he'd taken would prove futile now since he had acquired the boy's blood… No protective spell…no ward…nothing could ever keep him from the boy anymore… He was his for the taking.

If he wished, he could make a dramatic entrance, but he wanted to be as discreet about this as possible. He walked up the driveway to the main door and silently unlocked it with a snap of his wrist. He had just cast a disillusionment charm over himself when he heard the voices from inside…They were hurried and hushed but he could still make out the conversation that was happening…A woman spoke,

"Vernon…What…what have you done? Is he… Oh my God…Is he dead?"

And suddenly it was like all the pieces of his jigsaw puzzle came together… The pain, the wrongness… It had been the boy's pain he'd been experiencing… Was the boy really dead? That couldn't be possible… That could not happen… The boy was meant to die at his hands…His thoughts came to a standstill as the man grunted,

"He's alive."

He drew in a deep breath and felt everything inside him relax. He was alive. That was good enough for now. He was curious about what was happening inside but if he was hearing correctly, the conversation was happening at the entrance so opening the door would not be prudent. There was silence for a moment and then the man spoke again,

"We have to get rid of him, Petunia… If he dies in this house, it could cause problems for us."

The woman gasped in horror but he knew perfectly well that she would agree with whatever her husband was going to say. The man continued talking,

"We could toss him out on the road, a few miles away from here… It would seem like an accident then. Later we could file a report for the boy's disappearance and if the police find him dead, we could act distressed."

He felt a twinge of pity for the boy… maybe even a smidgeon of sympathy… But they were both gone in the blink of an eye. The woman's voice quivered with fear as she inquired,

"What if…What if his kind comes looking for him? What will we do then?"

The man snapped,

"We'll deal with that later… Just go check if there's anyone on the street."

He stepped away from the door as he heard the woman approach and then the door was opened a fraction of an inch as the woman looked around the street nervously. He could see the way she was practically trembling with fear…the sheen of sweat on her forehead… She left the door open as she hurried back inside and he took that chance to peer inside.

The boy was sprawled out on the floor. His face was turned away from him but the small pool of blood that surrounded his head was unmistakeable. He watched as the man picked him up roughly in his arms while the woman retrieved something from a basket on a table.

His gaze flew to the car and he smirked as he walked towards it and unlocked the back door wordlessly. It took him a second to get in and close the door. After that he waited.

Sure enough, the woman rushed towards the car and unlocked it. The man followed behind and the woman opened the back door before the man tossed the boy in… right beside him…

Perfect.

The woman stepped away from the car and the man spoke,

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes, Petunia."

The woman nodded shakingly as the man stepped into the front seat and began to drive. He took that moment to take in the boy's face. He looked almost translucent now… as if he would simply dissolve in the seats in the next few minutes. A bruise covered the left side of the boy's jaw but that was the least of the concerns. The blood was coming from a deep cut on the boy's temple and he knew that if he wanted to keep the boy alive, he needed to staunch the bleeding. He wordlessly cast a healing charm and watched as the blood flow steadied and then stopped altogether…But that was nowhere near enough to save the boy.

He had seen the blood that he'd lost already so he would need to get him a blood replenishing potion as early as possible. He saw the way, the man cast nervous glances in the rear view mirror and then looked ahead at the road.

The boy already looked so lifeless and that did something to him that he didn't enjoy. He convinced himself that what he felt was simply anger at the boy's inability to protect himself. He was a wizard… The boy was a wizard and he'd been reduced to this state by a bunch of muggles. This was unacceptable.

He was going to kill them in the most painful way possible… No…. He was going to have the boy kill them in the most painful way possible. It was only fair.


	10. Chapter 10

He leaned casually against the wall, as he watched the boy. His pale blood stained skin stood in sharp contrast to the black sheets. His dark hair was matted with blood. The covers were pulled up to his chest and they rose and fell in time with his breaths.

He hadn't even stirred once and that was certainly cause for alarm. He had healed his wound externally but there was no telling about the damage that had been caused to the boy's brain. He was not too troubled about that… He only needed the boy to be functional… Any damage to his mind was none of his concern. In fact, if what he had read about head trauma was true, it might even help his cause.

He pushed away from the wall and stepped closer to the bed. Leaning down, he ran his fingers through the matted hair and over the newly healed wound. There was no movement from the boy, and he felt a twinge of disappointment. He wanted him to awaken now. He wished to see his reaction to his new circumstances.

His fingers danced over the soft skin of the boy's forehead and came to rest over his scar. He traced his finger over it as he contemplated what his next move was going to be.

The boy couldn't stay here. His sudden disappearance would raise suspicions and that would be highly detrimental to his plans. He moved his finger lower and touched the boy's dark eyelashes that fanned over his pale cheeks.

He had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the boy possessed beauty. It was unrefined and unpolished, but he was certain that with a little effort, he would succeed in bringing it out.

He traced the purplish bruise and pressed on it slightly, but the boy did not even stir. His continued unconsciousness was beginning to irritate him. He could have cleaned the boy up, but he had not because seeing him so battered and broken brought him peace.

He rose to his feet and began pacing the room restlessly.

What was he going to do with the boy?

He could not leave him with his relatives again and he could not keep him…at least not yet… The boy was more trouble than he was worth, but he could not get rid of him. He would need to be very cautious about how he proceeded now.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the boy once more and as the beginnings of what could be a plan formed inside his mind. He was just lost in his contemplations when he heard a soft susurration behind him. He couldn't help but grin as he inquired softly,

"_Nagini, how was your meal?"_

Nagini wrapped herself around his shoulders and nestled her head in the crook of his neck,

"_It was wonderful, Master."_

He ran his fingers over her iridescent green scales and Nagini hummed in satisfaction as she burrowed her head deeper,

"_Will he be my next meal, Master?"_

He shook his head,

"_No, Nagini… You shall guard him for me while I get some things done."_

Nagini made a disappointed sound but spoke nonetheless,

"_It shall be done, Master."_

He stroked her head gently and then spoke affectionately,

"_Good."_

Nagini slithered off his shoulders as he snapped his fingers and cuffs appeared around the boy's wrists. The silver chains attached to them were fastened to the headboard. He knew that the boy wouldn't wake up anytime soon, but he just could not risk the boy escaping in his absence.

Nagini settled down on the rug by the bed and he spoke,

"_I shall be back soon."_

Nagini nodded her head obediently. He cast a glamour over himself to change his features and changed out of his robes into a pinstriped black suit before he disapparated.

* * *

For the second time in the past twenty four hours, he found himself at Privet Drive's door. The only thing that differed was that it was morning rather than night. The distant sound of conversation coming from the kitchen indicated that the Dursleys were up and about. Why wouldn't they be? They had nearly killed their nephew last night and then they'd left him out on the road to die to avoid the blame. He rapped his knuckles on the door thrice. The conversation from the kitchen halted and then he heard the sound of approaching footsteps before the door was opened by a very haggard looking woman.

Her hair was in disarray and the dark circles underneath her eyes indicated that she had not slept a wink last night. He put on his most charming smile and spoke gently,

"Madam, how are you doing this fine morning?"

The woman looked at him apprehensively and he wordlessly comforted her with his gaze and smile,

"I'm doing rather well…May I ask who you are and what you're doing here?"

He continued smiling as he spoke,

"Oh yes, you may. My name is David Bordell and I'm here to ease your strains."

Confusion clouded the woman's eyes and her features as she inquired,

"Pardon me?"

He looked past her at the hallway and for a moment, he saw last night's scene play in front of his eyes. The boy's unconscious body sprawled out on the floor…The pool of blood that had surrounded his head like a grotesque halo,

"May I come in? It shall take me more than a minute to explain this to you."

She shook her head,

"No…That won't be necessary. We don't need whatever you're selling."

She was just about to slam the door in his face when he cast a wordless Imperio on her. Her eyes glazed over and her features relaxed as all the tension and anxiety melted away,

"Oh, I disagree… You urgently need what I am selling… Be a dear and open the door for me."

She obeyed wordlessly and he sauntered past her towards the kitchen. This was certainly going to be amusing.


	11. Chapter 11

He stepped into the living room and watched the way, the man's beady eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in hostility,

"Petunia…Who is this?"

The woman merely stood in the doorway and stared ahead blankly, awaiting his next order,

"Sit."

She walked past him and settled down in on the couch while he took the seat opposite the man so that they were face to face. The boy cowered in fear in the background and was about to creep out the door when he slammed it shut wordlessly and spoke,

"Sit down, Boy!"

The man's face purpled with rage and he watched as a vein throbbed in his temple. He looked ready enough to explode as he spoke,

"Who the hell are you?"

He smiled his most charming smile,

"I am the only one that can assist you in your situation."

The man's moustache twitched as a touch of fear crept on his face,

"We don't have a situation, Mister…So just get out of my house."

The boy was pulling on the knob and trying to open the door. He sighed before snapping his fingers. The boy collapsed on the ground with a loud thud as his wrists and ankles were bound and he was gagged.

He turned his attention back to the man who was regarding him with a mixture of horror and fear and spoke,

"You should be grateful that I have merely bound him… I can do far worse…"

He paused for dramatic effect and then added,

"I shall do far worse if you do not comply."

The man was visibly trembling now and he smirked,

"I am aware of the fact that you left your nephew, out on the road, to die last night…"

A trickle of sweat ran down the man's pudgy face while the boy's muffled cries for help played in the background. He opened his mouth to speak when he shot him off,

"Do not attempt to deny it… Your lies cannot deceive me."

The man snapped his mouth shut as he stared in his lap and twisted his meaty hands nervously,

"I can assure that there is need for you to be afraid. I am willing to make you an offer that shall free you from this situation once and for all."

The man's gaze shot up as he inquired hastily,

"An offer?"

He nodded,

"Yes… The boy's sudden disappearance might garner attention, therefore I want you to inform me immediately if Dumbledore or anyone else for that matter comes looking for him… As for your neighbours…You may lie to them about his whereabouts…Rest assured… You shall face no legal consequences regarding the boy's disappearance."

The man was eyeing him suspiciously,

"What will you get out of this?"

His grin widened,

"The boy is precious to me… I shall be keeping him until he recuperates."

The man looked at his wife, that was still immersed in staring blankly at the opposite wall and then at his son on the floor,

"If you're like him then why don't you want Dumble…"

He paused as he tried to get the name correct before continuing,

"Why don't you want him to know?"

He reclined back in the chair casually as he spoke sympathetically,

"Let's just say that I despise the old man… I am certain that you despise him too. After all, he left the boy at your doorstep all those years again and did not even provide compensation for your trouble… I find that very unfair. The boy was never your responsibility and yet the old man forced you to take care of him…"

He paused and then spoke,

"I, on the other hand shall offer you adequate compensation if you accept my offer."

He snapped his wrist and a briefcase laden with muggle currency appeared on the table in front of him. The man's eyes widened in shock and he saw greed written all over his face as he stared at the briefcase. He vanished it with a snap of his finger and the man blinked in disappointment,

"All of that can be yours if you cooperate with me."

A greedy smile lit up the man's face as he spoke,

"The boy is all yours and so is our cooperation. Just tell me where to sign."

He conjured a piece of parchment on the table and the man fished out a pen from his pocket with a flourish before signing it happily. He was about to pull away his hand when he gripped his thick wrist and spoke,

"I shall also require a drop of your blood."

He pricked the man's thumb swiftly and watched in satisfaction as a few drops seeped out and dropped on the parchment. The parchment glowed an eerie golden colour as it soaked up the blood. He finally released his wrist and placed a black leather journal on the table,

"This is how you shall inform me. You will write in it whenever someone from the magical community comes here to ask about him."

The man looked at the journal before nodding. He rose to his feet and spoke,

"Excellent… It was a pleasure doing business with you"

He conjured back the briefcase on the table and watched as the man pounced on it like a starved man on food,

"There shall be more of that if you stay loyal to me. If you do not… You shall die along with your wife and child."

The way the man's face paled told him exactly how much he feared him and that filled him with extreme satisfaction. These people were going to die anyway but only when the time was right and only when the boy was ready to kill them.

He removed the curse from the woman and vanished the restraints from the boy before strolling out of the room and then the house.

It took him a second to apparate himself back to the castle and another to be back in the room, the boy was occupying. The boy was still unconscious and Nagini was curled up next to him. She slithered off the bed at the sight of him and he dismissed her from the room before sitting down next to the boy himself.

He ran his finger over the cuff around the boy's wrist as he watched him in his unconsciousness. He had just moved his hand to touch the boy's hair when a soft barely audible groan escaped the boy's lips and his eyelids fluttered.


	12. Chapter 12

When he came to his senses and the agony struck, Harry was its prisoner and felt quite helpless in his cage of pain. He was blinded with flashing colourful spots and craved darkness, quiet and stillness once more. He wished he hadn't woken up. The nausea overwhelmed him, and he felt like vomiting. Pain throbbed so violently around his skull that he wondered why it didn't just crack open.

He tried to thrash around, trying to curl up, trying to somehow move, trying to grab his hair and wrench them out… It hurt so much that he couldn't lay still but something was keeping him still…something was restraining him but he was too far lost in the excruciating agony to know what it was… He didn't even know where he was…All he knew was that he was alive and he didn't want to be… He didn't want to be alive…The pain was too much…Too all consuming… He just wished he could die because dying was the only thing that could end the pain. It was the only thing that could bring him peace.

He distantly became aware of screaming and the realization that they were his screams followed soon after… He was screaming but he wasn't aware of his lips moving… He wasn't even aware of his body…

He had no idea how long the pain went on for…Every time he felt like it was fading away or lessening…it would suddenly peak and grow worse… Every time he felt like he was fading away, something would just drag him back to awareness… back to the agony…

Eventually, the pain went away, leaving him panting, exhausted and utterly drained…

A trickle of sweat ran down his temple and he attempted to move his hand to wipe it away when he heard the chains jingle and that's when he knew the reason, he hadn't been able to move earlier. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to understand why his wrists were restrained.

Where was he?

He steadily opened his eyes to take in his surroundings and stared blearily at the dimly lit room. Everything was a blur without his glasses so he couldn't quite make out the details but the room looked expensive… That combined with his restrained wrists could only mean one thing.

"I am pleased to see that you are finally awake."

Harry gulped as he closed his eyes and fought the waves of fear that threatened to overwhelm him. The mattress shifted and he felt Voldemort's finger brush against his cheek,

"How are you feeling now, Harry?"

Harry didn't trust his voice. He was certain it would betray him and tell Voldemort exactly how afraid of him he was in this moment. Voldemort's finger traced over his cheekbone and Harry involuntarily hissed out in pain when Voldemort pressed on a bruise,

"I expect a reply whenever I ask you a question, Harry."

Voldemort removed his finger, taking the pain away with it and Harry drew in a deep breath before speaking,

"I'm fine…"

His voice sounded unrecognizable… He'd never heard it so weak before. Voldemort's finger returned to the bruise and he pressed on it once again. He quickly remembered what he'd missed and added,

"Sir…"

Voldemort chuckled softly as he pulled away his finger,

"Good boy… Now…You must be wondering what you are doing here…"

Harry kept his eyes closed as he nodded slowly,

"Your relatives left you out on the road to die. They did not wish to be accused of your murder."

Harry wasn't surprised that he didn't feel any disappointment at that. He hadn't expected anything good from the Dursleys. His heart ached when he realized how come he'd close to dying. He wouldn't be here if Voldemort had just allowed him to die.

He felt cheated…For the second time, Voldemort had kept him apart from death… It wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this. He attempted to move his hands and felt a surge of resentment towards Voldemort…Towards the Dursleys…Towards Dumbledore…Towards his parents…

Why had he even been born?

Why couldn't Voldemort have just killed him properly as a child?

Why couldn't Voldemort have just killed him in that graveyard?

Why couldn't the Dursleys have just ended his life?

Life… What was his life going to be now anyway? He was enslaved to Voldemort…His bound wrists were testament to that. He was certain, he wouldn't be allowed to return to Hogwarts. He would probably never see his friends again. Voldemort had said he had plans for him. What were those plans?

Was Voldemort going to turn him into one of his death eaters? No… That simply couldn't be his fate…He couldn't let that happen…He'd rather kill himself than let that happen…

"I want to die…"

Voldemort laughed derisively,

"What you want does not matter anymore. It shall bode well for you if you align your wishes with mine."

Harry opened his eyes finally and inquired,

"And what do you want, Sir?"

Voldemort was silent for a moment and then he spoke,

"You shall know that when the time comes."

Harry drew in a shaky breath as the fear and uncertainty overwhelmed him. His future seemed so dark. It felt like he was trapped in a cage and the walls were slowly closing in on him.

Pain, sharp and excruciating lanced through his head once again and forced his eyes shut once more. A whimper escaped his lips and Voldemort asked,

"What's wrong, Harry?"

He was trying to stave off the pain…trying to push it away but it just wasn't working. He gritted his teeth as he fought back another moan and bit out,

"My head… It hurts…."

Voldemort made a thoughtful sound before speaking,

"I am certain that you can manage it."

The mattress shifted again as Voldemort no doubt rose to his feet. Harry felt unexpectedly hurt at how easily Voldemort had refused to help him with his pain. To be honest, it really was his own fault for expecting that Voldemort would take away his pain. He loathed him. Seeing him in pain probably satisfied him more than anything else.

He felt his glasses appear on the bridge of his nose but made no effort to open his eyes. The pain came and went in waves and he was struggling to get a grip on it. He wasn't sure if Voldemort was in the room or not but he pleaded,

"Please… Release my wrists…"

Voldemort spoke sternly,

"Only if you promise to behave yourself."

Behave himself… How could he possibly act up or misbehave anyway?

"I…I promise, Sir."

And just like that the chain around his wrists vanished and his arms fell free on the pillow on either side of his head. He curled up in a fetal position immediately and buried his face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around himself.

A part of him was ready to beg Voldemort to take away the pain but the other part…The one that still had a bit of pride left, outright refused and Harry was left to fight off the pain on his own.


	13. Chapter 13

Days bled into each other. The pain didn't stop. It morphed into something else, a fire that roasted him from the inside out. He shivered with fever and sweat coated his skin. He could smell the sickness, but the worst was the pain, so raw and dominating, he was sure it burned his mind and melted it away. He didn't know how much more pain he could endure, but he didn't stop enduring it.

Sometimes he heard a man talking to him. He barely recognized individual words, it was a murmur, but it softened the pain if only for a little while. Harry clutched onto the voice in the darkness, turned towards the source of it to hear it clearer. He mourned the voice when it faded and was relieved when it came back to him.

He accepted water and sighed when he felt something damp being pressed against his forehead, cleaning his sweat-coated skin. Hands brushed his hair back, doing their best to soothe him. He'd never had someone take care of him before, not like this, not like a child with an attentive parent. But the man with the rumbly voice was looking after him, doing his best to dampen the fire roasting his insides. It was an impossible task, but Harry was glad he wasn't alone.

"Get some rest."

He gave into the voice's demand and sank even further into unconsciousness.

Harry's eyelids felt heavy, glued shut. He forced them open, blinking obsessively to adjust them to the room. A bright-white room, he was lying on a bright white bed. On his left hung a blue curtain, and when he turned his head, he saw the same on his right.

There was pain, but it was muffled, half blocked, only an undercurrent of nerves twitching. The curtain was more important, and he reached tentatively to the one on his left, pinched it in a weak grip, then slowly opened it.

He gasped when he saw what was on the other side. Cedric was in the neighboring bed, no doubt dead… His parents stood beside him. Their sobs grew louder. Harry pulled the curtain back across, hiding the family from view. The sound stopped instantly, and he was back between the blue curtains in the bight white bed.

He stared at the curtain on his right, not wanting to open it, but knowing he had to. He had to see what was on the other side, what his tormented mind wanted to show him.

Harry pushed back the curtain but this time, the scene was of a child's bedroom.

He watched as his mother begged for his life. He watched as she was consumed by that flash of green light and her lifeless form crumpled to the bed. Harry didn't sob. He wanted to but somehow, he couldn't. He just stared with at her unseeing eyes with a vast emptiness expanding inside him.

Harry yanked the curtain back again, then lay down on the bed. He sank into the pillow, shut his eyes, and slept.

"You need to drink,"

The voice told him.

So, Harry drank, small sips that felt as if they evaporated on his tongue.

"You need to eat."

So, Harry accepted the porridge spooned into his mouth. He didn't want to eat it, but the voice encouraged him. Then he was rewarded with fingers through his hair, and soft touches to his face. His whole body burned, worst of all his head, but when those fingers touched him, he got chills.

"You need to take these."

Harry allowed the potions to be slipped past his lips and swallowed them.

"You need to rest."

Harry agreed with the voice, turning his head to the murmuring sound. The man understood, and started playing with his hair, luring him into a deeper state of unconsciousness once again.

It happened over and over, and Harry found himself longing for that voice, those soothing hands, and scratching fingers more than the food, water, and potions.

He saw brown eyes. Intense brown eyes that studied him. They were wide, looking at him expectantly, almost excitedly. The fingers in his hair stopped moving, and he gave those eyes a pleading look. He didn't want him to stop touching, to stop comforting him. He needed the man with the rumbly voice and the brown eyes. He croaked,

"Please…"

The man's eyes sparkled, a soft laugh breezed past his lips, and then he was stroking again, staring into Harry's eyes until the need to sleep became too strong, and he drifted off.


	14. Chapter 14

The next time he forced his eyes open, he was in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Ginny were over by the fireplace, talking between themselves as Hermione pushed through the door, eyes fixed on him,

"Tell me what happened, Harry."

It hurt his jaw to speak, and he tried to massage it, but couldn't move his hands. He heard tapping but couldn't work out where it was coming from,

"Voldemort."

Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically as she crossed her arms across her chest,

"You know who?"

He nodded,

"It's him… He's back from the dead…He killed Cedric… He's keeping me somewhere…"

Ron spoke up,

"He can't be alive…You vanquished him…"

Harry turned to him,

"You have to believe me…He's back…you need to find me…"

Desperation clawed at his insides as his friends refused to believe him. He could still hear the tapping, more of a knocking. Someone was knocking, but when he looked around the room, he couldn't see anything.

He scrunched his eyes shut as Hermione asked,

"What's he doing?"

The words slipped past his lips and forced his eyes open,

"He's looking after me."

Ron let out a chuckle,

"Looking after you?"

Harry squirmed. A murderer was taking care of him, trying to put out the fire inside him, helping him, and he was about to reveal his return…

"The monster's looking after you?"

Harry didn't want to tell them anything anymore; he didn't want the pain to come back. He wanted the damp cloth on his forehead, the spoonsful of porridge, the cool water… He wanted fingers rubbing circles into his temples, and hands stroking his weakened body. He wanted care and compassion, even from a monster.

Harry turned his head, caught something in the corner of his eye, and found the source of the tapping. A window, that shouldn't have been there… It faced green fields and a stormy sky…

The window was shut, and on the ledge outside sat a magpie. It was knocking a snail against the glass, trying to break the shell, trying to get to what was inside.

The unwanted hard shell, for the wanted soft interior.

Harry scrunched his brow, feeling another headache coming.

Was the magpie trying to get to the snail? Or was it trying to break the glass, help him escape? Maybe the magpie knew the hell he was stuck in, but Harry didn't want to escape. He turned away from the magpie,

"Harry!"

Consciousness hit him hard, and he lurched forward, sparking pain in his head. Someone pinned him to the bed and when they lifted their head, Harry realized that it was Voldemort. A disapproving look was plastered to his handsome face.

"I thought I told you not to make any sudden movements."

He couldn't remember when he'd said that, but he didn't want the pain to come back. Voldemort hovered over him and touched his forehead gently,

"The fever has gone down but it has taken a lot out of you."

Harry could feel it, drained, weak.

Voldemort moved away, then sat down in the chair beside the bed. Harry took in the room for the first time. The dark green walls, the black sheets, the elaborate curtains that concealed the window from view… Harry flared his nostrils, taking in the scent… tomato soup. It smelled good, and he started swallowing excessively.

Voldemort gestured to the bowl on the bedside table,

"It's a bit hot at the moment."

Harry didn't comment as he took another look around the room. There was no clock in the room, and he had no way to know how much time had passed since Voldemort had brought him here. Voldemort always looked immaculate, styled. His handsomeness mocked him while he lay there, feeling worse each day that went by.

Voldemort ran his hand through his hair,

"Are you with me?"

He didn't flinch out the way, snarl an insult, or lash out. In his muddled head he knew they were the acceptable reactions, but instead, his eyes drooped, and he moved into the touch.

Voldemort soothed him, stroked back his hair, then curled the longer strands behind his ear. The touch was intimate, and nice, and Harry was too exhausted to deny himself the sensation of touch. It was wrong, but it felt right.

He knew it had been days of drifting out. Days of messed up dreams about his friends, Hogwarts, Cedric, his parents… but for some reason it was the magpie that stayed with him after he woke.

"How long have I been out of it….Sir?"

Voldemort made a thoughtful sound,

"You have been in and out of it for fourteen days now."

Harry tugged his eyebrows together,

"Fourteen days?"

The pain throbbed in his head, a constant sensation that only softened, and loudened, never faded altogether,

"Open your mouth."

Harry parted his lips and allowed the contents of the flasks to be tipped inside. It was bitter on his tongue, but it was good. The potion made him feel dizzy, detached. It made him no longer care that Voldemort was leaning close to him and kept his fingers on his lips longer than necessary.

"How is the pain?"

Harry spoke,

"It's okay at the moment, Sir."

Harry shuddered when he remembered the first few days. He hadn't dreamed; there had only been pain. Pain, even Voldemort couldn't stop despite what he pushed through his lips. Ordinary potions had done nothing so Voldemort had resorted to feeding him potions that he, himself had brewed for him. Potions that were potent, and effective, but made him tired, sluggish and unable to do anything for himself.

Everything hurt, and Harry felt most comfortable lying in the bed, doing his best not to move, and drifting in and out of consciousness. But he didn't like the dreams. The dreams were a different kind of painful, and he hated that Voldemort was the one to save him from them. Voldemort called his name and surfaced him from the nightmares.

Voldemort was his messed up hero.

Voldemort pulled him out of his train of thought,

"What were you dreaming about just now?"

Harry glanced at the curtains. The one thing his strung-out mind had recalled accurately while he was asleep, the green fields, and storm-gray clouds…that insistent tapping…

"There was a magpie tapping a snail against the window."

A thoughtful expression crossed Voldemort's face,

"A magpie?"

He nodded and just as he was about to speak…The tapping on the window started again.


	15. Chapter 15

He gritted his teeth in annoyance as the incessant tapping continued. The boy had been doing so well. He had managed to make him depend on him to some extent and this could change everything. The boy croaked hoarsely,

"Can…Can you hear that too?"

He sighed softly and nodded his head. He had no intentions of relinquishing his newly formed control over the boy, so dealing with this situation rationally was the only option he had,

"Yes…I can hear it."

The boy's eyelids fluttered shut as an exhausted breath left his lips. The overexertion was starting to show on his pale face. After all, this was the longest time, the boy had been awake and lucid,

"Is it a magpie?"

Magpie… He hadn't expected the boy to hold onto that little detail. He'd been unconscious when he'd shared that incident with him, but it seemed that it had somehow gotten embedded in his subconscious and was haunting his dreams.

He rose to his feet and pulled back the curtains with a lazy movement of his wrist. A snowy white owl was flying just outside the window. Tapping its beak against the glass as if it endeavoured to shatter it. How easy it would be to simply kill the bird and extinguish its tiny life but if he did that now, the boy would surely revert to resisting him once again and he did not want that.

"No… It is an owl."

The boy's eyes fluttered open revealing emerald green irises that glowed with the light of hope… It was a light he was going to find a lot of pleasure in extinguishing. The boy would come to rely on him and only him in due time. He would soon learn that he was the only one who he could depend on,

"Hedwig!"

He opened the window and the owl fluttered in like a small hurricane and perched on the boy's chest. The boy laughed weakly as he raised a hand and ran his fingers through the owl's snowy white feathers,

"Hey, Girl."

The owl preened and revelled in the attention it was getting as it nuzzled its head in the crook of the boy's neck. The sight sickened him. He stepped closer to the bed and cleared his throat before speaking,

"You need to eat."

The boy's emerald gaze focused on him and something like fear flickered in them. Now, that was a sight he simply adored. He caressed his cheek softly and spoke,

"The owl can stay if you continue to behave."

A relieved sigh escaped the boy's lips as the fear evaporated and he whispered,

"Thank you, Sir."

He stroked the owl's feather once again and something like understanding flashed in the owl's amber eyes as it took off the boy's chest and perched itself on the vanity.

The boy licked his dry lips, so he conjured a damp cloth and brought it to his lips, dabbing along them. The boy's eyes fluttered shut and a soft moan escaped his lips. He moved the cloth to the boy's forehead and the boy sighed out in relief.

After a while, he finally put down the cloth and picked up the bowl of soup. He stirred it, then lifted a spoonful. The boy's mouth opened readily and he couldn't help but grin at the quick submission. He spooned the soup into the boy's awaiting mouth and fed him in silence.

When he was done, he vanished the bowl and his hand automatically moved to stroke the boy's dark curl. It had become a custom of sorts and the boy usually drifted off to sleep in seconds when he was stroking his hair.

The same happened this time and when he was certain that the boy was fast asleep, he turned his attention to the latest source of his vexation. The owl was perched on the vanity and regarding him with intelligent amber eyes. For a moment, he considered feeding it to Nagini. However, the thought of losing all the progress, he'd achieved with the boy, forced him to change his decision. The owl would have to live…For now…

He made his way out of the room and locked the door on his way out. The boy was in no condition to get up on his feet but he did not wish to take any chances. It took him a minute to reach the meeting hall and he silently hummed in satisfaction as all the inhabitants went down on their knees at the sight of him.

Making his way through the crowd of death eaters, he reached the head of hall and spoke,

"Rise, my death eaters."

They rose to their feet and he ran his gaze over their masked faces. He had not informed them of the boy's presence, merely because he did not trust them. They had abandoned him once. They could abandon him again. The one's who had not deserted him…his most loyal death eaters…They were locked up in Azkaban and he was going to free them very soon…

He settled down in his throne and signalled the meeting to be commenced. The agenda of the meeting was like any other. His death eaters brought him news from the ministry and Hogwarts, and it was discussed in detail. He had no intentions of making his presence known any time soon. The fact that the world was unaware of his resurrection was a feat in itself and the credit to that went entirely to the boy. His silence had ensured that things remained in order and a path was paved for him to rule the magical world.


	16. Chapter 16

"You were crying out for your mother earlier."

Harry could still taste the saltiness from his tears. He wanted Voldemort to ignore the embarrassing episode, him sobbing himself awake then accepting a cradling hug from Voldemort, but he could see the curiosity in Voldemort's face and knew it was only a matter of time until he'd ask.

"You sounded like a child. Your lip was wobbling, and your face crumpled. You sounded small, fragile."

Harry remembered the earlier dream, not a dream, but a memory, one that made him feel cold, and his gut plummet to his toes. He didn't like thinking about that…Mainly because it made him remember who Voldemort really was…

Voldemort spoke softly,

"Tell me what you're thinking."

"No."

"We are going to be spending a lot of time together."

"I don't want you toying with my mind."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair,

"Tell me or, I'll leave you on your own."

Harry wasn't attached to a beeping machine, but it was obvious Voldemort's words had triggered something. His chest started to rise and fall faster. Voldemort's voice and presence cut through the dreams, dragged Harry to the surface, but when he was gone, one dream led to another, and another, until he was stuck in a merry-go-round of hell. Memories of his parents, hallucinations of Hogwarts, and the magpie, tapping on the window….

He managed to gasp out,

"Don't…Please…"

"Then talk to me."

"Will you use it against me?"

"No. I only want to get to know you, Harry, the real you. The one no one else sees. It's for my personal interest. I won't torment you with it. I won't tell anyone else. I just want to know."

Harry picked the sheet on the bed, pinching the material between his thumb and forefinger, then releasing before pinching it again,

"It was a memory of when you killed my parents"

Voldemort made a thoughtful sound before inquiring,

"How do you feel about that?"

Harry exhaled through his nose,

"I don't know…"

Voldemort lifted his eyebrows,

"That is a lie."

"I'm not lying… I really don't know… You killed them and I should hate you for that… I used to hate you for that, but I don't anymore…"

The truth rolled off Harry's tongue. He couldn't help it. It was the potions; they loosened him up. He looked down at his body… too sluggish… too heavy…

"How can I ever hate you again? I swallow whatever you feed me… I'm helpless and reliant on you to feed my addiction…."

Voldemort tsked,

"You are not going to get addicted. I will not allow it to happen."

"Would it bother you if I did?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned,

"Why?"

"I cannot let you go back into the big bad world addicted to pain relief potions. I will not destroy you like that."

"You have messed up morals."

"I have rules when I play games."

"I'm a game?"

"Yes. Now tell me… Do you like me?"

The question was so evasive, so unexpected, Harry's lips opened and closed a few times before he formed a reply,

"Do I like you?"

"That is not an answer."

"I… I like you…"

The words were sharp on his tongue, and unconvincing in his head. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, seeing through it.

"It's okay _not_ to like me…"

Harry growled through his teeth,

"How can I not like you when you're all I've got at the moment?"

"Tell me the truth…"

Harry swallowed the guilty lump in his throat,

"I like you but it's not normal though, is it? You take care of me…Feed me… Look after me… But you killed my parents… You killed Cedric… You tried to kill me twice… And then you saved me twice…It's so messed up…"

Once Harry started, he couldn't stop. His mouth spoke faster than his brain could stop the words. He blamed the potions he'd been taking. They pulled down his barriers, exposing him….

"There's a very fine line between like and dislike, Harry… Do you think the lines have started to blur?"

Harry scrunched up his nose,

"Yes…"

Voldemort smiled in satisfaction,

"Do you ever wonder what your parents would think of you if they saw you now?"

Harry cried. Tears were burning in his eyes,

"Stop it!"

Voldemort touched his cheek gently,

"Have you ever felt lonely?"

Lonely… The faces of Ron, Hermione, Sirius and everyone else flashed in front of his eyes followed by the feelings he'd experienced in the past few months after Cedric's death… It took a moment for him to reply,

"Yes."

"So was I… I knew I was different. You could be standing in a crowded room, smile on your face, and still feel lonely. I knew I was twisted, wrong, and they weren't like me."

He closed his eyes,

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

He thought Voldemort would push, keep asking questions. It wasn't like he could escape, and he'd be worn down eventually, but instead Voldemort nodded, then whispered,

"Do you want a change of scenery?"

"What?"

"I could move you into the sun-room. There is a window there… Would you like that?"

Harry nodded,

"Yes… I can't lie in this bed anymore…"


	17. Chapter 17

He knew Voldemort had left the castle, he'd restrained him to the bed before he went, and apologized when Harry couldn't hide the distress from his face. Without him there, it meant hours of uninterrupted, messed up memories and dreams. It only stopped when Voldemort woke him, brushing his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

Voldemort helped him over to the armchair by the window and lowered him down. Pain flared in his head, and he gritted his teeth, riding through the pain.

Voldemort moved away then and spoke,

"There's binoculars."

"So?"

"You can look out the window…"

Harry frowned but reached for the binoculars anyway. He pressed them to his eyes and looked out the window across the fields. He didn't know what Voldemort wanted him to see. There was nothing but mud, grass, trees, and then something flashed in the distance. Something fast moving caught the sun.

Then another.

He realized it was a road…A muggle road… A road to freedom, people to help him… he could see them whizz by like sparkling dust, there but out of reach. He put the binoculars down, then stared at Voldemort,

"Message received."

"What message?"

"You want me to realize I'm helpless. I'm reliant on you. I can't escape."

"In a few weeks, you won't need to. You're a captive, that's all. My toy, my plaything, until I deem it fit to set you free and send you back to Dumbledore."

* * *

He must have dozed off because whatever he'd been dreaming about had started to fade into darkness. Harry could hear tapping, and when he opened his eyes, it took a few minutes to adjust, and realize it was rain hitting the window beside him.

Voldemort was perched on the arm of the chair, leaning into Harry's space. He stroked his cheek. Harry didn't know how many days had passed. They merged together and were only interrupted when he had to move. He slept in the bedroom at night but spent the days in the sunroom. Voldemort stared so intently into his eyes that Harry had to look away. Voldemort finally spoke,

"You're crying…"

Harry shook his head as he tried to conceal his face,

"No…"

Voldemort cocked his head to the side, amusement glinting in his eyes,

"It's fascinating. I hardly have any emotions, but you, your face, your eyes, your voice, you're so expressive. You have so many emotions, and you don't even try to hide them."

Harry reasoned,

"It's the potions…"

Harry knew it hadn't been long since he'd last taken the potions, not because he remembered, but because of the hazy sensation at the back of his skull. The detached, cut-loose feeling that scared him. He didn't want to talk, worried what would come out, but Voldemort liked to ask. Harry could see it in his eyes. He liked for his mind to tear itself apart through dreams and memories. It was entertainment for him. Cruel bastard, but he acted so caring while he watched, wiped Harry's face, staring deep into his eyes. He looked excited, like he was putting together a puzzle, and was amazed by what he saw.

Voldemort murmured.

"Why were you crying?"

Harry bit his lip,

"Because I'm a bad person."

Voldemort's thumb paused, and he blinked, then frowned,

"How are you a bad person?"

"Because I lied to everyone…"

Voldemort's frown deepened. He looked away, then back at Harry before inquiring,

"Would you tell the truth if time was turned?"

Harry contemplated that for a moment before shaking his head imperceptibly,

"If you had told everyone the truth, you would have been blamed for Cedric's Diggory's death. There would have been people who would have labelled you as a liar or an attention seeker. Your name would have been dragged through the mud. You would have been publicly humiliated…So believe me when I say that lying to everyone didn't make you a bad person…Telling the truth would have…"

He closed his eyes,

"But now the world doesn't know that you're back and preparing to take over…People will die and it'll be all my fault…"

Voldemort chuckled softly,

"What is going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Harry shook his head,

"Those potions… I don't want to take them anymore."

Voldemort argued,

"But they help with the pain."

He opened his eyes again,

"I'd rather take the pain than my mind unraveling like this. You enjoy it though, don't you? You like seeing me suffer."

Voldemort shook his head,

"It's not about suffering. I like learning about you, how you justify things, make sense of what's happening around you. It's interesting, but if you really don't want to take them anymore, I will not make you."

Harry remembered what it felt like to feel the pain in full, and shuddered. Voldemort watched him, then sighed.

"How about we find a happy medium, a balance so we muffle some of the pain, and let you keep your head."

Harry nodded,

"Yes."

"Half a flask every four hours, but if you need more, tell me. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Despite what you think, I do not want to see you suffering. I only want to know you, and for you to know me."

"Why?"

Voldemort shrugged,

"I just do. We're playing a game, and games are supposed to be enjoyable for all involved, even this one, oh, and Harry…"

"What?"

"You're not a bad person."

It shouldn't have made him feel better, but it did.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry hated the indignity of being so weak he spilled his food, so weak he had to support his forearm with his other hand. Voldemort waited until it got too much for him, and he sighed in defeat.

"You'll let me do it?"

Harry nodded, dropping his arms back into his lap. Voldemort grinned, then began spooning the soup into his mouth. Home-made chicken soup, Voldemort had told him. The smell had filled the room as soon as Voldemort had conjured it…But he seriously doubted that Voldemort had cooked it himself…He couldn't imagine him standing in the kitchen and cooking… That image was too domestic to fit Voldemort's Dark lord profile, but he found himself liking it, nevertheless. After one mouthful Harry knew it was the best soup, he'd ever had… Better than anything he'd ever had at Hogwarts…Better than Mrs. Weasley's cooking…

"Did you make this?"

Voldemort chuckled softly,

"You would not believe me…"

That was true. But what he did believe was that Voldemort enjoyed feeding him. His eyes went wide, and shiny, and he usually leaned into his personal space. Harry thought about smacking the spoon away, or spitting the soup at Voldemort, but he did neither. He pushed the defiant part of him away, and accepted the situation. Voldemort grinned, and Harry hated how he seemed to know the battle going on in his head.

Finally, Voldemort spoke,

"I took the liberty of collecting your mail from Privet Drive."

Harry felt his curiosity pique,

"Really?"

Voldemort nodded as he conjured a bunch of letters, wrapped neatly with a tweed rope,

"You should go through them later and think about suitable replies. I will help you pen them down tomorrow."

Harry leaned back against the headboard as he stared at the bunch,

"Did you go through them?"

Voldemort smirked,

"I did, actually…"

Harry bit his lip,

"Then you must have thought of the replies I should send"

Voldemort nodded,

"I did…"

Harry closed his eyes as he spoke,

"Why didn't you just write them down and send them? Why are you showing me the letters?"

He felt Voldemort's fingers brush his cheek and then heard him whisper softly,

"Because I want you to stay in touch with reality… You will not be staying here forever. As soon as you recover, you will return to Hogwarts and be with your friends. It is of utmost importance that you don't arouse their suspicions."

Harry pursed his lips as the sense of apprehension overtook him. He would have to lie again. He would have to pretend to be normal again. He would have to pretend that everything was okay…that everything was fine…that Voldemort wasn't lurking in the shadows, bidding his time and preparing to strike… He opened his eyes and met Voldemort's gaze,

"I'll have to lie again…"

Voldemort raised both eyebrows, then put the bowl on the side,

"You are more than welcome to announce the truth if that is what you wish…"

The burning intensity of Voldemort's gaze forced him to lower his and he spoke,

"I can't."

Voldemort took a hold of his chin and forced him to meet his gaze,

"Why not?"

He wanted nothing more than to stop discussing the topic, but he knew perfectly well that Voldemort wouldn't let it go,

"Because no one will believe me and…"

Voldemort's grip tightened a fraction of an inch on his chin and he inquired,

"And?"

Harry closed his eyes and spoke,

"You saved my life… You're taking care of me…You're feeding me…I feel indebted to you…"

Voldemort grinned,

"I want you to remember that for the rest of your life, Harry… I want you to remember that when the time comes for you to pick a side publicly…"

Harry nestled his head in the pillow as raw and unadulterated fear gnawed at his heart. Voldemort smoothed his fingers through his hair and inquired,

"Do you consider me to be handsome?"

Harry momentarily forgot everything as he focused his attention on Voldemort's question,

"You said that to me a lot when you were drifting in and out. You kept calling me handsome, you kept thanking me for helping you. You said it so softly, like you couldn't believe someone would do such a thing…You don't say thank you as much now."

Harry scrunched his face as it came back to him,

"I remember…"

"You remembered I'm the monster than murders as well as the man that helped you."

Harry whispered out,

"The monster part outweighs the man."

Voldemort sighed,

"Well, at least you still think I'm handsome."

He grinned again, showing off his attractive face. Harry pulled his face away from the pillow and spoke,

"You're a man and a monster, handsome on the outside, but ugly down to your core."

Voldemort picked up the bowl of soup and resumed spooning it into Harry's mouth. It tasted so good; Harry couldn't deny himself. Voldemort whispered,

"Even so… You are still letting me take care of you."

He inquired tiredly,

"What's the alternative?"

A truly malicious glint entered Voldemort's eyes as he spoke,

"You know the alternative. It flickers behind your eyes, stiffens your body. You could fight against me, but deep down, that is not what you want."

Harry knew that was the truth…He wanted to fight Voldemort with everything he had in him but…He had nothing left inside of him…He felt so hollow…so weak…so utterly useless….

"Dumbledore conditioned you to hate me and the part of you that is still obedient to him wants to fight me but you…the real you…the part of you that hasn't been conditioned… Well, that part wants me to take care of you, and I am."


	19. Chapter 19

A hand was on his face was desperately pawing away his tears. Reality came back to him, and he jolted, sparking pain in his head. He hissed, panted, then whimpered at the pain. His whimper morphed into something angry, twisted, a fierce growl as he struggled to get out of the bed, out of this place, out of his mind if he could escape it.

Someone rolled on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. Harry fought him, tried to buck him off, but Voldemort managed to avoid him. Harry's anger turned back into despair, and he whimpered into Voldemort's chest as he sank down on top of him. He released Harry's wrists from above his head but kept over him. His toned upper chest was the perfect place for Harry to press his face, and sob into.

Harry clutched Voldemort's back and dug his nails in 'til his fingers shook. Voldemort's heartbeat drummed a steady rhythm against Harry's forehead, and he soon calmed down listening, and feeling, the heart of the monster. Finally, Voldemort asked,

"Are you with me?"

Harry snuffled, still firmly glued to Voldemort's chest,

"Yes, I'm with you."

Voldemort spoke softly,

"I am going to get off you now. Do not damage yourself."

He murmured brokenly,

"Damage? I'm already broken. You've broken me."

Voldemort chuckled mirthfully,

"You were broken long before you met me. I have simply given you a small push, and you have shattered completely."

Voldemort rolled off him, but instead of taking the space beside the window, he moved to the opposite side, and propped his head up with his hand. The light from the lamp shone in his eyes, and the cast dark shadows on his features.

"I have heard you cry in your sleep plenty of times but that was something else… That was … raw emotion. What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember… I wouldn't tell you even if I did…"

"Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't understand, no one understands."

Voldemort frowned,

"How do you know?"

"You said you've never loved anything."

"I haven't."

"Then how can you possibly understand?"

Voldemort looked out the window,

"I want to… I want to understand. I want to know what made you roar like that and sink your nails into my flesh."

Harry couldn't look Voldemort in the eye, so instead he spoke to his chin,

"I was dreaming about… about Sirius…"

"Your Godfather?"

Harry nodded silently. Voldemort spoke,

"I'm not judging you, Harry. Tell me about Sirius."

"I thought he'd betrayed my parents… But he'd been wrongfully accused…"

"I am aware of all that… Wormtail had a hand in it…Tell me…How is he as a person?"

Harry swallowed hard,

"He's…He's wonderful…He's witty and brave…"

Voldemort pursed his lips,

"But they are not the traits that make him so invaluable to you…Tell me what makes him invaluable to you."

Harry licked his lips, then started telling Voldemort all about Sirius in detail…how they'd met…how he'd helped him escape…how Sirius had told him that he could live with him once his name was cleared…

Voldemort smiled. It looked sinister in the flickering light, but Harry was convinced it wasn't meant to be. He lifted his chin, gesturing Harry to continue and so Harry told him how Sirius had hid in a cave last year just to provide him with moral support and advise him in his hard times,

"What happened in the dream, Harry?"

Harry pawed off the remaining tears as he spoke,

"There was a duel going on… Sirius was duelling someone, and I was watching it all from a distance but I couldn't help him even though I was dying to…And then…"

Voldemort had a look of wonder on his face,

"And then what, Harry? That was quite a sound you made … tortured, devastated… I've not heard anything like it before."

"I watched him die and it felt so real…"

Voldemort lowered his gaze. Harry fixated on his long lashes, the smooth skin of his eyelids, the droop of his eyebrows where he was frowning. Then he looked at Harry again, and the light flickered in his brown eyes. He looked so sincere Harry couldn't breathe,

"How did that make you feel?"

"It felt like my world was ending…I screamed for him, but he wouldn't respond… He had never kept me waiting…He'd risked everything just to help me...But he just wouldn't respond when I was screaming for him…"

His lower lip wobbled as a fresh stream of tears threatened to escape his eyes again when the scenes replayed in front of his eyes. Voldemort touched his cheek gently and the images were dispelled like smoke,

"You said no one understood, but I do. Or at least as much as a man like me can. Your Godfather sees you as a person…not as the chosen one or some hero…He sees the good, the bad, and the ugly in you…and he's always there for you… He is practically the only family you have…"

Harry closed his eyes as he thought about what Voldemort had just said to him. It was all true, but it terrified him that Voldemort had been able to pinpoint all that about him so easily…

"That's not true anymore. He came to visit me when I was recovering in the hospital wing. I looked him in the eyes, and I lied to him just like I lied to everyone else…He'd probably hate me if he ever found out the truth…Everyone will hate me…"

Voldemort stroked a spot underneath his ear and then spoke,

"You have not committed any crimes…There is nothing to hate about you… You are a saint compared to me… I kill people, Harry… I take their lives because it feels good to me. Because something messed up and twisted in my mind makes it feel pleasurable to me… I enjoy it, and not only that, but the part of me where I should feel remorse, or guilt or self-loathing does not exist… I like you, Harry… I enjoy talking to you, and taking care of you, but do you know how many times I have thought about killing you?"

Harry leaned back and waited for Voldemort to tell him,

"Every day… And I know it would feel good. It is only because of the pattern, the allowance, and structure I have given my desires, that I have not gone through with it."

Harry met Voldemort's gaze and spoke,

"What happens when you conquer the magical world? What happens after you achieve everything you've ever wanted?"

For the first time Harry saw something akin to sadness in Voldemort's eyes. Voldemort pulled away his hand from his cheek and spoke,

"I have never contemplated that."

Harry blinked, shaking his head. He shouldn't feel any sympathy for Voldemort. He didn't feel sympathy for him, he repeated in his head, but the sadness in his expression made him momentarily speechless.

He looked at Voldemort's chin, then lifted his gaze to his eyes once again,

"What if you lose control someday and kill me?"

Voldemort laughed, the sombre look on his face vanishing, and he grinned warmly at him. He reached for his cheek, and Harry didn't flinch or move away. He let Voldemort touch him and didn't look away from his fond gaze. Voldemort brushed his fingers down from his forehead, closing his eyelids,

"I will never kill you… Now, sleep."

Harry didn't reopen his eyes. He stayed flat on his back as he felt Voldemort's burning heat on his side.


	20. Chapter 20

The last couple of days had helped his recovery a lot. He could finally sit up on his own, eat on his own… He wasn't plagued by constant headaches. In fact, they'd been much more bearable these past couple of days. The only thing, he still couldn't do properly was getting up on his feet and walking. Somehow, every time he tried, his legs felt weak and lifeless and he felt dizzy.

He was just lost in these thoughts when Voldemort walked into his room and announced,

"I have something for you."

Harry couldn't stop his curiosity from seeping into his voice as he inquired,

"What?"

Voldemort grinned as he conjured a set of crutches,

"To help you move about."

Harry looked at them apprehensively,

"Aren't you worried about me escaping?"

Voldemort snorted,

"I know you will try no such thing. Now come on, let's try to get you up."

Harry took the crutches and then with Voldemort's help, managed to stand. It was an odd feeling being upright without being sprawled over Voldemort. Voldemort smiled, nodded in encouragement, and Harry swung the crutches forward, taking a step. Some sense of pride came back to him, and he smiled back, only for his smile to quickly fade when he remembered that the man that had given him back a sliver of freedom was still a murderer….

"How is the pain?"

Harry muttered,

"Manageable."

Voldemort chuckled,

"Good. It'll be nice to have an extra hand in the kitchen."

Harry had only ever been to the sunroom but he'd seen how grand the castle actually was. Voldemort led the way, while Harry got acquainted with his crutches. The castle was huge, but it seemed lonely. He couldn't understand how Voldemort lived here all by himself. Everything was perfect…from the corridors to the tapestries that adorned the walls to the carpets that covered the marbled floors. The kitchens were nothing less. They were huge and were equipped with about a thousand pots and pans along with every kind of cooking utensil imaginable…

"Do you really cook?"

Voldemort grinned crookedly,

"Is that really so hard to believe?"

Harry shook his head as he ran his gaze around the opulent counters and gleaming pots. Voldemort pointed to the kitchen table. Harry stared at the onions and the knife, then back at Voldemort,

"You want me to chop onions?"

"Yes…It is a relatively easy task."

Harry frowned at the onions,

"You can use magic to cook, right?"

Voldemort chuckled,

"I can…But doing everything by hand is far more satisfying."

Harry snorted,

"So, you are going to torture me after all?"

Voldemort laughed, and Harry couldn't stop his lips twitching into a smile,

""I've been cooking for you for weeks, so I believe it is time for you to help out."

Harry sat down at the table, then rested his crutches on the floor.

"I hate chopping onions…"

It was obvious that Voldemort was clearly enjoying himself as he spoke,

"There is a real good technique of getting it done where your eyes don't burn…I believe there is a charm for it as well…"

Harry inquired curiously,

"What is it?"

Voldemort hummed and then shook his head,

"I can't remember."

Harry huffed,

"That's really helpful."

Voldemort grinned,

"I will tell you when I do."

Harry finally asked,

"What are you making?"

Voldemort corrected,

"What are we making? Paella, but without the prawns."

Harry couldn't help but feel relieved,

"Good, I hate prawns."

Voldemort's grin grew wider,

"I have heard that if you eat anything eight times, you start to like it."

Harry scowled at that,

"I don't believe that."

Voldemort tipped his head back, laughing. Harry hated that he had a nice laugh. He was hoping for something ugly to reveal itself from Voldemort, but apart from the words that left his mouth, he appeared perfect.

Harry begrudgingly started on the onions, and within seconds his eyes were watering, and he was constantly blinking to compensate. Voldemort watched him for a few moments, then conjured the chicken.

He started frying it, and the smell woke Harry's dormant appetite.

The knife glinted in his hand, and he stared down at his reflection in the gleaming blade. He could launch it at Voldemort, stab him in the back, stop him from ever killing again, but he didn't. He sighed and carried on chopping the onions. Harry finally asked,

"Is this something you do with other people?"

Voldemort shrugged,

"I wouldn't be a very fearful Dark Lord if I did this with my death eaters on a regular basis."

Harry frowned,

"Why do you want to be a fearful Dark Lord?"

"Because that is what I truly am…"

Harry waved his arm around,

"Then what is all this?"

Voldemort shrugged,

"There is no law that states that a Dark Lord cannot cook."

Harry couldn't help but ask,

"How can you live all alone in this castle? Doesn't it get lonely?"

Voldemort laughed,

"No… I rather enjoy the solitude."

Harry sighed,

"Haven't you ever thought of being with someone? Maybe there's someone out there that shares all your desires."

Voldemort shook his head,

"No…"

Harry decided to change the topic and gestured to the chopping board for Voldemort to see,

"Done."

Voldemort smiled,

"You're a natural."

Harry snorted,

"A natural at chopping onions?"

Voldemort nodded,

"Yes… Now for the pepper."

He threw a red pepper at Harry, and he caught it one handed. His eyes were still burning, and he was surprised he'd caught it at all. But he was relieved to know that his quidditch reflexes were still sharp.

"Wait, you let me burn my eyes out first, when I could've started with the pepper?"

Voldemort shrugged, then stilled, waving his spoon,

"Wait, I remember the technique with the onions."

Harry inquired,

"Which is?"

Voldemort smiled, a big, blooming smile that lifted his cheeks,

"The key is to get someone else to cut them for you."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"That someone might just brush them onto the floor."

Voldemort laughed,

"No… If you do, I might just have to torture you for real."

Harry sighed and started on the pepper. He couldn't see what Voldemort was doing in the frying pan, but it smelled so good his mouth watered. Voldemort took the onions and peppers and added them into the pan. After a moment, Harry murmured,

"What are we doing?"

Voldemort replied promptly,

"Making lunch."

"No, I meant this,"

Harry said, gesturing at them both with the knife,

"Pretending this is normal."

Voldemort spoke in a matter of fact voice,

"I am not pretending anything. I am making lunch, and you are helping me."

Harry spoke out in frustration,

"But it's not…not right."

Voldemort chuckled,

"Paella will still taste good without the prawns."

Harry cried out in agitation,

"I'm not talking about the paella."

Voldemort smirked,

"I know… What would you prefer, me threatening you…torturing you?"

Harry ran his hands through his tousled hair,

"No…yes … I don't know."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows,

"You want me to hurt you?"

Harry snapped,

"I said I don't know… At least if you were, I'd stay hating you, not…"

He bit his tongue, shaking his head.


	21. Chapter 21

Voldemort raised his eyebrows,

"You want me to hurt you?"

Harry snapped.

"I said I don't know…At least if you were, I'd stay hating you, not…"

He bit his tongue, shaking his head.

"Not what? Like me?"

"I don't like you. You're a murderer, but this… this is just confusing."

Voldemort grinned to himself,

"You don't hate me."

"I should."

"You feel guilty because you like my company,"

Voldemort said, fixing Harry to the spot with his stare,

"But you shouldn't. What you're feeling is completely normal."

"You have no idea how I'm feeling, and it certainly isn't normal."

"Just accept it and let go. Everything will be much more easier if you do."

"You're deluded."

"So are you."

Voldemort conjured something, tucked it under his armpit, then slid onto the chair opposite Harry,

"We need to let the rice cook."

Harry eyed him, then quickly looked away. Voldemort really was handsome, especially when he smiled. He leaned back in his chair and lifted what he'd been hiding onto the table and smoothed the front page of the newspaper. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"I am a murderer, but that does not mean I act cruel and sadistic all the time."

"This whole situation is cruel and sadistic."

"You are on the side that will be end up ruling the magical world."

He took in the headline that was emblazoned on the front page and reached over the table to scrunch it up, but Voldemort tutted, moving it from his grasp,

"No, you are not going to tear it."

"I hate The Daily Prophet."

Voldemort slid the newspaper towards him again,

Harry started flicking through the newspaper page. He kept going until he got to the crossword,

"Can you do crosswords?"

"I can do them just fine."

Voldemort said, getting to his feet.

"If you say so,"

Harry pretended to read,

"Arrogant murderer who thinks he can rule the world…Nine letters, begins with V, ends in T."

"No idea,"

Voldemort said. He got a spoon, took some paella out of the pan, them came towards Harry.

"Try it."

"Why, have you laced it with poison or something?"

"No…"

Harry sighed, then opened his lips to accept the spoon. The minute it touched his tongue, his taste buds cheered, and he only just held back a moan. Voldemort was watching him seriously, eyes dark and targeted, like a predator on prey.

"Good?"

Harry nodded,

"Yeah, it's good."

Voldemort brushed his thumb against Harry's lips, and a shot of electricity went through him. The touch was lingering, soft, and Harry's eyelashes fluttered. He tried to remember the last time Voldemort had touched his lips. It had been when he was too weak to feed himself. Voldemort had fed him, always ghosting Harry's lips with his fingers after each mouthful. Voldemort whispered,

"You had a bit of rice on you."

"No, I didn't."

Voldemort smiled,

"No, no, you didn't."

He took his hand away and went back to the frying pan,

"Read me a clue, and we will see who gets it first."

Harry swallowed, then looked down at the crossword, and read the first clue aloud. "Ten letters, pleasing in appearance."

Voldemort tapped the spoon on the side of the pan,

"Got it."

"Already?"

"Yes, I think you will get it, too, if you use your head. What's the first word you think of when you look at me?"

"Murderer."

Voldemort reminded,

"Pleasing in appearance…"

Harry muttered,

"Some murderers are."

Voldemort laughed again; another laugh that made Harry's stomach feel funny.

"It's not murderer but try again."

"Killer? Deranged, crazy, heartless."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and smiled coyly,

"I'm not sure you know how crosswords work. There's a clue, and a number of letters, neither of which you have seemed to grasp."

Harry looked down at the table, then flapped his hand, acting as if he'd got it,

"Lunatic."

Voldemort laughed again, and Harry pinched his wrist to distract himself from the flutters in his gut. The sound of Voldemort's laugh shouldn't have been alluring; it should've been like nails on a chalkboard.

"Come on, Harry,"

Voldemort said, gesturing to himself, particularly his face,

"If you had no idea who I was and I came up to you, what would you think?"

Harry's face filled with heat, and his mind filled with inappropriate thoughts. A big knowing smile brightened Voldemort's face. He laughed, linking eyes with Harry,

"After the initial thoughts about being claimed by me faded, what would you have thought of my face? How would you describe me?"

Hot, handsome, sexy, if Harry didn't know what was going on inside his head, they would've been the words to describe him. He swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat, ignored the prickling heat that had travelled from his cheeks to his toes, and whispered,

"Attractive."

Voldemort nodded, then winked,

"Thank you very much. You are not too bad yourself."

Harry glared angrily at the newspaper picking another clue,

"Here's one for you. 6 letters, make certain of a failure."

"It can't be sabotaged."

"If you're just going to list all the words it can't be, we are going to be here a long time."

Voldemort smirked,

"The word is doomed."

Harry chuckled,

"Correct, as in, you're doomed to fail in conquering the magical world"


	22. Chapter 22

He was alone in the bathroom.

The first time Voldemort had left him alone in the bathroom weeks before, he'd looked at the window, judging whether he could fit through, looked at the razor, wondering whether he could use it as a weapon against Voldemort, but his mind didn't wander down those routes again. Instead he felt happy. Voldemort had left him on his own. He could undress and shower without his help, and an odd combination of excitement and relief filled his chest.

He sat down on the toilet, struggled out of the trousers and then tugged his oversized t-shirt over his head. He steadied himself on the sink, hopped closer to the shower, then grasped the chair, Voldemort had left for him

When the shower's spray hit him, he winced, leaning to avoid the first downpour of ice. It warmed fast, and he sat upright, sighing to the steam. He could feel the grime and dirt being stripped from his body, and when he started massaging shampoo into his hair, he moaned at the sensation. The hum of pain in his head became even more distant. His whole body felt refreshed, clean, and he smiled into the spray.

For the first time in weeks, he was happy, and Voldemort had given him that happiness…

Harry stopped smiling the second the thought crossed his mind. He shouldn't have been grateful to Voldemort. He was keeping Harry prisoner; he was a murderer. He should hate him and try to escape but…

Why couldn't he?

His heart began pounding beneath his chest as he thought back on the past few days. He'd helped Voldemort in the kitchen breakfast, lunch and dinner. They talked, laughed, filled in the crossword. Voldemort had even started sleeping right next to him because of the nightmares he still experienced. They lay side by side on the bed each night, never touching, but together.

Harry leaned forward in his chair, gasping for air. The steam added to the claustrophobic feeling. He was trapped, and his mind had been taken hostage, too. It had been twisted, reshaped, and he didn't recognize it. He liked spending time with Voldemort. He was touched by him gifting Harry crutches, and grateful he'd allowed him to use the bathroom alone. Voldemort had stripped down his walls, crawled inside his head, and was helping him rebuild them, with him still inside.

Harry reached behind himself and turned the dial on the wall. He gritted his teeth as the cold water poured down his back, so cold it felt painful, and his back spasmed. Harry stopped tensing, accepted the pins and needles down his spine, and started shivering.

He closed his eyes and his whole body went numb. He preferred a numbed mind to a compromised one.

* * *

"HARRY!"

Harry hadn't heard the shower door open, and his eyes felt heavy when he tried to open them. He realized his teeth were no longer chattering, and he wasn't shivering. He blinked the drops from his lashes, then looked at Voldemort. His brown eyes blazed with anger, and his nostrils flared. Before Harry could do anything, Voldemort had grabbed him under his armpits, and pulled him out of the shower.

The minute his chest was against Voldemort's, his sluggishness vanished, and he found himself clinging to the heat. He didn't want to. His clear head told him to shove Voldemort back, keep him away, but his arms wrapped around him on their own accord, and he pressed his body into Voldemort's solid chest, taking the warmth from him.

Voldemort didn't moan about getting his silk shirt wet like he'd expected him to. He didn't shun Harry for wanting affection. Voldemort wrapped his arms around Harry in return and held him impossibly closer. Harry took his warmth, cushioned himself in Voldemort's chest, and let him take most of his weight.

"You'll make yourself sick."

He was already sick, a sickness of the mind where he'd become attached to Voldemort. Where he'd seen beyond Voldemort's evil deeds and liked what was underneath. Harry mumbled,

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Harry gasped,

"Don't… Don't say things like that. Don't act like you care."

"But I do."

"You're lying."

Voldemort's hand roamed into Harry's hair, and he gripped the strands, gently pulling Harry's head away from his chest. They stared at each other, and Harry waited for the wolfish smile he hated, but it didn't come.

"I am not lying. You are the one person in the world I have not had to lie to. That makes you special. Very special to me."

His gaze dropped to Harry's mouth. His lips burned under Voldemort's attention, the hottest part of Harry's body, but in seconds it had a rival. His cock filled, pressed to Voldemort's thigh, brushing against his pants as he clung to Voldemort's shoulders.

Voldemort tugged Harry's hair, and his scalp tingled, and a soft noise left his parted lips. Voldemort saw it as an invitation, some kind of green light, and he dropped lower, eyes still targeted, as he swooped, pounced, struck, attacked. Harry didn't know how to describe it, but he caught the predatory glint in Voldemort's eye just before they connected and turned his head.


	23. Chapter 23

Voldemort tugged Harry's hair, and his scalp tingled, and a soft noise left his parted lips. Voldemort saw it as an invitation, some kind of green light, and he dropped lower, eyes still targeted, as he swooped, pounced, struck, attacked. Harry didn't know how to describe it, but he caught the predatory glint in Voldemort's eye just before they connected and turned his head.

Voldemort's mouth met his cheek, he gave a quick peck, then withdrew with a soft snort from his nose. Voldemort's body that had been all tense and curled forward, suddenly relaxed, and he went back to hugging Harry again.

Harry could feel his heart pounding away, but Voldemort's heart rate was matching it. They were so close together he could feel both, completely out of time, and disorienting. He was being punched by their hearts, and the sensation made him dizzy, slightly nauseous.

Voldemort's heart started to slow, and he released Harry's hair. They stood together in the bathroom, Harry clinging onto Voldemort's shoulders, and Voldemort's with his arms secured around Harry's back, giving his warmth, taking Harry's weight, and making him feel ashamed, and comforted at the same time.

Voldemort sighed,

"Come on. Let's get you a towel, and I shall get you a warm drink."

"You tried to kiss me."

"I did. And you got aroused again."

"I didn't."

"At least I am honest with myself. Now come on…"

Voldemort moved Harry towards the sink, and he clutched on before Voldemort released him.

"Oh,"

Voldemort said, turning around and picking up a pile from the floor,

"I came up to give you these."

Harry looked at the towel, and clothes, then he frowned,

"Wait, these are my clothes."

"Yes…They are."

The warm feeling Harry despised fizzled in his stomach. He was happy, grateful, relieved, all emotions he shouldn't have felt. He shouldn't have felt any positive emotion towards Voldemort, but when he touched his shirt, he couldn't help flashing a smile.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome. I shall see you in the sun-room."

Harry sat down on the toilet, dropped his head into his hands and sighed. He couldn't like Voldemort; he just couldn't.

* * *

Voldemort inquired softly,

"How is the pain?"

Harry sighed,

"It's fine."

Voldemort sat down on the sofa next to Harry. He looked at the armchair and thought about moving, but he was comfortable, settled.

"It's warm."

Harry took the mug,

"Thanks."

They stared out the huge window together as he sipped his tea and enjoyed the view. Finally, he broke the silence,

"How was your childhood?"

Harry paused for a moment before he spoke,

"I know you were brought up in an orphanage…You told me all about your family…that night in the graveyard…"

Voldemort wrapped an arm around his shoulder and traced his scar gently with his other hand,

"My childhood…"

There was nothing but silence for a couple of minutes and then Voldemort spoke,

"I always knew that I was different from the other children. I could make things move without touching them. I could make animals do what I wanted them to do, without training them. I could make bad things happen to people who annoyed me. I could make them hurt if I wanted to. I learned to use and control my magical abilities at a very young age, even though I wasn't aware of what they were until Dumbledore enlightened me…"

Harry took another sip from the cup and spoke,

"Did you hurt anyone when you were a child?"

A truly demonic smile lit up Voldemort's handsome features and distorted them,

"Yes… I did… I have always desired power. It was always there, simmering in my head and I never had any emotions or feelings to hinder me in my pursuit…"

Harry leaned against Voldemort's side involuntarily as he spoke,

"Did you have to pretend to be normal at Hogwarts?"

Voldemort chuckled darkly,

"I can be quite charismatic when I wish to be… It was not difficult for me to wrap all the professors around my fingers… The students worshipped me. In fact, Hogwarts was where I gathered some of my most trusted death eaters."

Harry was about to pull away when Voldemort pulled him in close,

"Tell me…How do you feel about Hogwarts?"

That wasn't a difficult question,

"It feels like home."

A sly grin curved Voldemort's lips,

"Are you sure about that, Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes as he felt his mouth turn sour. He placed the cup on the table and then spoke,

"It felt like home until…"

Voldemort continued to stroke his scar as he inquired,

"Until?"

Harry sighed,

"Until you didn't kill me in that graveyard….Everything just changed for me after that night..."

Voldemort laughed softly before he pressed his lips to his cheek,

"That night changed everything for me as well."


	24. Chapter 24

He pressed the front page to the kitchen table, glaring at the ordinary headline. It was hard to believe how nothing had changed in the outside world. Voldemort warned.

"Do not scrunch it up."

Harry flicked through the pages to the safety of the crossword.

"Intense feeling for something, particularly something lost. 5 letters."

Voldemort hummed,

"Something you do a lot."

"You've got it already?"

"You are reading out the easy ones."

Harry rubbed his temples, willing his brain to work, but no spark lit up in his head,

"I don't know."

"Yearn."

"Oh, right… yeah. I'm tired, and it's the painkiller potions… they make me slow."

"Excuses."

Voldemort chuckled. He came closer, taking a look over Harry's shoulder,

"How about sexual gratification, eight letters."

His voice was low and rumbling, and Harry resisted the urge to shiver.

"You like picking sex related ones, don't you?"

"Well it is always bubbling underneath the surface, isn't it?"

"In your dreams…"

"So do you know it?"

Harry breathed heavily from his nose,

"Pleasure."

"Yes"

Voldemort said, rubbing Harry's shoulders,

"Pleasure."

Harry tried to find the right number on the crossword, but there wasn't one, and there wasn't a clue like the one Voldemort read out.

"It's not even on here."

"No, no, it's not."

Harry didn't protest or fuss about Voldemort rubbing his shoulders. It felt nice, too nice, and his eyes fluttered shut. Voldemort worked his neck, rubbing his muscles, firmly where he had tight knots of tension, and gently at the side of his neck.

"Does this feel good?"

"You know it does…"

He kneaded his thumbs into Harry's neck, rubbing the sore muscles until his head flopped forward, and he felt like a puppet with cut strings.

"You are very tense."

"Well you know, I'm not used to being kidnapped and held in a huge castle…"

"I did not kidnap you…I just happened to save you…"

"You should have let me die."

Harry slapped Voldemort's hand on his shoulder.

Voldemort laughed lightly, then ran his hands up the back of Harry's neck, scoring his nails against Harry's scalp. Harry couldn't help his gasp, or the excited thump of his heart. Voldemort scratched his scalp, and his nerves twitched and tingled until he relaxed, and sighed into the touches. A moan rumbled from deep in his chest, and Voldemort responded, digging his nails in harder until Harry shivered.

Harry felt himself getting hard again, a heavy heat in his crotch. It became unbearable, and he shifted his hips for the friction of his pants. He panted, then opened his eyes. Voldemort stopped rubbing, and Harry glanced up at him. He was deadly still, body frozen, as if poised to strike. The excited gleam was back in his eyes, and a slow smile spread his lips.

His hand shot down, but Harry grabbed his wrist in time, stopping him.

"Why not?"

Voldemort asked,

"It's a release, that's all—"

"No."

"You know I can make you feel good."

Harry licked his lips, inwardly begging his erection to go down, and his heart to calm.

"I know you could, but you shouldn't… you shouldn't feel good."

Voldemort sighed, backing away. He went back to the stove and stirred the pasta sauce he'd been making. He tried some, then bobbed his head,

"Needs a little more salt."

Harry's head spun. It was like the incident in the shower. Voldemort acted as if it hadn't happened, changed the subject completely, carrying on. Harry couldn't, not this time.

"Why?"

Harry asked.

"It'll improve the taste."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Why…"

Voldemort sighed,

"Because I want all of you."

"All of me?"

"Yes."

"Haven't you had enough? I've spilled my secrets to you. You've compromised enough of me."

"I thought so, too, but no. I find you fascinating, Harry, and I want more."

"You can't have more."

"You'll enjoy it, and so will I."

"I won't,"

Harry said through his teeth,

"It'd be wrong."

Voldemort shrugged,

"You are just being stubborn."

Harry picked his crutches off the floor, got to his feet, then left the kitchens. He felt Voldemort's gaze on his back, but ignored it, hobbling out into the vast corridor. But before he could leave Voldemort stood in the doorway,

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"Be here. I have to get out of here, I have to sort my head out."

Voldemort didn't budge,

"Go where? You cannot apparate…"

"I have to leave. I'll walk across the fields…"

"You are not strong enough."

"Get out of my way!"

"No. You know I cannot let you go."

Harry flared his nostrils,

"Move."

"I think you should calm down. You are going to damage yourself."

"Damage myself?"

Harry laughed,

"I'm already damaged. I'm beyond repair."

"Just let yourself heal and I shall allow you to leave…"

"You think I care about your twisted fantasy. I don't care. I don't care about any of this right now… I have to get away, I have to leave."

"I am not going to let you."

Harry gritted his teeth, dropped one of his crutches, and swung his fist at Voldemort. He didn't react quickly enough, and Harry caught him. He bumped into the door-frame, lost balance, then fell to the floor.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry gritted his teeth, dropped one of his crutches, and swung his fist at Voldemort. He didn't react quickly enough, and Harry caught him. He bumped into the doorframe, lost balance, then fell to the floor. He looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, with his lip bleeding, and the guilt was immediate.

Immediate, but confusing. Harry gawped at Voldemort on the floor, focusing on the damage he'd done. He'd knocked down his captor… a killer… the monster, but he didn't feel good about it.

There was no time to think. He had to get away.

Harry bent down to retrieve his crutch, then as quick as he could walked through the corridors and navigated his way outside until he found himself halfway across the first field. It was cold on his bare feet, and so hard each step jarred his spine. The ground was uneven and his head was starting to spin, so he staggered, struggled to stay upright, and carried on. He tripped and hit his head against a rock. The pain went straight through him, stealing his breath, spinning his head.

It took him a moment to get it back under control and get back on the way. Somewhere, Harry lost one of his crutches, dropping it while he staggered onwards with the agony surging through his head and darkness flickering just on the edges of his vision.

He was soon out of breath, rasping and tired, and ended up sinking to the cold earth, staring at the journey ahead he knew he couldn't make. Voldemort was right… he wasn't strong enough.

Maybe that's why he hadn't followed him…

His fall to the ground wasn't graceful. He couldn't land on his knees…he collapsed in slow motion, until he was lying on his side, between the molds of mud. The smell of earth filled his nose, and he looked into the distance, to the freedom he knew was there, but all he could see was gray mud, and gray clouds.

Voldemort appeared beside him, staring into the distance. He was dabbing a handkerchief on his bloodied lip, then looked down at him,

"You are welcome to continue if you wish to… I shall not stop you."

Harry closed his eyes as he shook his head subtly. He couldn't continue,

"Let's get you back in bed then."

Voldemort crouched beside him and examined his head before tsking,

"You hurt yourself again."

He helped him to his feet, slung one of Harry's arms over his neck to take almost all his weight,

"Apparating would be easier but I do not believe you can handle it in your current state."

They walked back to the castle, and instead of feeling disappointed his great escape had failed, he only felt relief when he stepped inside. The castle that smelled nice, that was warm, and somehow comforting. They passed through the corridor where the kitchens were, and Harry saw the newspaper still open on the kitchen table… The scene was domestic, strange.

Voldemort helped him into the bedroom, then laid him down gently. He just stared straight up at the ceiling, didn't speak, didn't move, just existed as Voldemort tended to the cuts on his feet and the bump on his head.

When he was done, he sat by him in silence for a couple of minutes and that bothered him. For all intents and purposes, Voldemort should be torturing him for what he'd just done…for hitting him…for trying to escape… He should have locked him up in some dungeon.

After a couple of minutes of silence Voldemort spoke,

"Here…Drink some tea."

Harry didn't look at him, but he could smell it. The rich aroma, Voldemort liked his without sugar, Harry recalled. Harry said nothing, only continued his staring contest with the ceiling wishing Voldemort would leave him alone or simply torture him…He couldn't bear his kindness…Finally he broke his silence,

"Why aren't you torturing me?"

Voldemort sat down on the bed beside him,

"Your frustration is understandable. It was due time you let it out."

Harry couldn't look at him. Voldemort's swollen lip made him feel all sorts of conflicting feelings, the ugly lump he'd put on his perfect face. Harry only just stopped himself from apologizing, but he wanted to. He wanted to say sorry despite the times Voldemort had hurt him before… Despite who Voldemort was.

"When I get in a sulk…"

"I'm not in a sulk."

Voldemort lifted his hands up in surrender,

"I did not say you were, I am just saying, when I get in a sulk, I read jokes out from a muggle joke book I have until it goes away."

Harry covered his eyes with his hands. He couldn't imagine Voldemort sulking or telling muggle jokes…It was too much…

"Please spare me."

"Why can you not hear a pterodactyl go to the bathroom?"

Harry spoke incredulously,

"Are we really doing this?"

Voldemort didn't deign his question worthy of a reply, instead he finished the joke,

"Because their pee doesn't make a sound,"

Harry pressed his lips together, refusing to smile.

"You seem to be a bit of a tough crowd… Sometimes I tuck my knees into my chest and lean forward… That's just how I roll."

Harry went from pressing his lips together, to biting them shut.

"What do you call someone with no body and no nose?"

Harry didn't answer so Voldemort spoke,

"Nobody knows."

He laughed, removing his hands from his face. Voldemort beamed a smile at him, then poked his cheek.

"Made you laugh."

"It's a pity laugh."

Voldemort shrugged,

"A laugh is still a laugh."

"I'm one joke away from asking you to torture me."

"That is harsh. They are not that bad."

"They're awful."

"They are designed to make you laugh, and they did. They have served their purpose, and I have served mine by cheering you up."

Voldemort helped him sit up,

"Why do you even care if I'm upset?"

"I do not particularly enjoy seeing you so miserable."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. Voldemort handed him the cup of tea and spoke softly,

"Drink."

Harry whispered,

"Thanks…"

He finished his tea in silence and then Voldemort gave him a pain relief potion. He drank it down in one and then Voldemort lifted his arm, making his intentions clear, snaking it around Harry's neck to pull him closer. Harry didn't protest. He leaned into him, relaxing until the side of his face was resting on Voldemort's chest.

Why did this feel so right?


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a bit of animal cruelty in this chapter so be very cautious if you're triggered by that... I should have added this when I posted the chapter. That's definitely a mistake on my part and I'm so sorry for that

It was some time later when Voldemort pulled his arm away and his neck chilled without his heat. He murmured,

"Come back."

The haze that usually accompanied the pain relief potions filled his head and he knew he wasn't thinking straight but he didn't care. He lifted Voldemort's arm, slung it over his shoulder, then leaned his face back on his pec,

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

He slurred out,

"I'm fine… It's just the potions…"

Voldemort touched his hair,

"I should not be so careless with you…"

"I'm fine…"

Harry said again, closing his eyes because his eyelids felt like they'd turned to lead. Voldemort stroked his hair gently and he felt himself drifting off to his wonderful touches, but something kept holding him back and away from sleep. It was probably the fear of what nightmare he'd have to face tonight if he drifted off.

Voldemort seemed to have picked up on his predicament because he spoke softly,

"You should rest… I shall be here."

Harry shook his head,

"I can't…"

Voldemort touched his cheek,

"Why not?"

It was difficult to explain. There were some nightmares he understood and then there were some he didn't… The magpie… The magpie was there in all of them and he couldn't understand why,

"The magpie…"

Voldemort traced his cheekbone ever so slightly as he inquired,

"Does it bother you?"

He nodded silently because talking felt like too much effort. Voldemort sighed,

"I told you the story about the magpie when you were in absolute agony."

Harry shuddered when he remembered those initial days…The pain…The helplessness… At that time, it had seemed like it would never end. He spoke,

"Tell it to me again."

Voldemort took his hand into his,

"You asked me to kill you because you could not stand the pain and I refused so you asked me when was the first time I killed."

Harry murmured,

"When was the first time you killed?"

Voldemort traced the veins on the back of his hand as he spoke,

"I was six years old…The first thing I killed hadn't even opened its eyes. It hadn't even breathed its first breath, made a noise."

Harry inquired,

"How could you have killed it then?"

Voldemort spoke,

"The orphanage had a garden at the back and in that garden…There was an oak tree and in the oak tree, lived a magpie. Each year it rebuilt its tumbling nest, and Mr. Magpie and Mrs. Magpie made sweet love, and aw, rejoice, eggs appeared."

Harry whispered,

"What did you do?"

Voldemort chuckled softly,

"What do you think I did?"

The answer slipped past his lips,

"You destroyed the eggs."

"I climbed up that tree, sat on a branch, and squeezed every one of them."

"It's cruel."

"No… that is not cruel. Doing it year after year is the real cruelty. Sometimes the magpie watched from the roof, saw what I did, but it still rebuilt its nest in exactly the same place. It still laid those eggs knowing the risk."

"It was just a bird."

"Magpies are clever. It knew."

"What are you saying, it laid its eggs there, so you'd kill them?"

"No, it was challenging me, carrying on, each year thinking I would bend, that I would change my behaviour. It hated me, and I hated it, but neither of us could change our nature. Stubborn bird, monstrous boy."

"You're deluded. The magpie wasn't playing a game with you. They're not that intelligent. Its brain's the size of a walnut."

Voldemort chuckled again,

"Your brain is twenty times bigger and here you are, snuggled up to my chest even though you know who I really am…What I have done…"

He didn't want to think about that, so he asked,

"What happened next?"

"When I was ten, I found the magpie in the garden. I don't know what had happened to it, but it couldn't fly. It had broken its wing. I told Miss Cole, and she said it wouldn't survive. It was better if it was put out of its misery. It was the humane thing to do. She said she would end its suffering, but I stopped her. I said I'd do it myself."

"So, you killed it?"

"No. I didn't want to end its suffering. We had a game going on, so it couldn't die. I needed it alive, so I kept it in a box in the shed."

"Miss Cole didn't find it?"

"I kept it very well hidden…I kept the magpie alive. I killed snails to feed it, as well as giving it scraps of bread, ham. It even ate cheese. At first the magpie pecked me every time I tried to feed it. It squawked, flapping its damaged wing, making it worse…"

Harry thought back to the hazy days after Voldemort had saved him. He'd thrashed, cried out, moved to avoid Voldemort's hand every time he reached for him. He'd refused water, food…He could remember now…He could almost hear his own voice begging Voldemort to kill him…to take away the pain…

"Then … something happened, and it stopped fighting me. It let me feed it, let me close. Let me ease its suffering."

Harry snorted,

"Did you brew some pain relief potions for it too?"

"No. I persisted. Fighting me was getting it nowhere, but giving in, accepting its situation, that helped it. It realized it had no control over its fate. I did."

Harry cracked an eye open and peeked up at Voldemort,

"Maybe it was biding its time, getting stronger, better. Did… did it get better?"

Voldemort looked at the ceiling, lost somewhere, and then he turned his attention back to him,

"Its body got stronger, better."

"Body? What about its mind?"

"It lost that somewhere along the way."

"How could you tell what was going on its mind?"

"I just could. I enjoyed toying with it. I found it interesting. Despite what it knew about me, the things I'd done, I still won it over. It still became… attached."

"Is that what you're doing to me?"

Voldemort grinned,

"Consider yourself warned."

His smile faded quickly though, and he reached for his hair and started stroking them again. Despite knowing he should lean away, distance himself, he didn't,

"The magpie… Did you enjoy taking care of it?"

Voldemort looked away, contemplating, and then he met his gaze,

"I enjoyed seeing it change from hating me, to relying on me."

"No, I mean… feeding it, washing it, stroking it. Did you like looking after it?"

"Yes. It was rewarding."

"Why?"

"It knew the real me… It had seen the monster when I'd hidden it from everyone else, and still, it let me look after it. It knew, and it became attached to me."

"It's wing got better?"

Voldemort nodded,

"You let it go?"

He stopped nodding, and fixed him with a cold stare,

"No."

Harry frowned,

"Then what did you do?"

"I snapped its neck."

Harry's breath caught in his chest, and a shot of adrenaline rushed to his heart and he said, breathless.

"Why?"

"Because I'm a monster."

"It doesn't make any sense."

"You are right, I don't. but I am what I am."

Harry stiffened,

"I don't understand… Why would you do that? There has to be a reason…"

"Perhaps I shall tell you about that another time… For now, you should rest."

Harry couldn't help but yawn into Voldemort's chest. He didn't want to think anymore. Knowing why the magpie made appearances in his nightmares had entangled him more than not knowing and now he wished Voldemort hadn't told him this story,

"I knew it would bother you. That is why I refrained from telling it to you again when you mentioned that you saw it in your nightmares."

Voldemort helped him lie down. That night Harry lay a little bit closer to Voldemort, not touching, but close enough to feel his heat, and smell his scent.


	27. Chapter 27

Voldemort undid his cuffs, and the relief of him finally being back made him breathless. His only company had been Hedwig, perched on the vanity as she'd watched him. This was the first time, Voldemort had cuffed him when he'd left, and Harry knew it was his own fault. He shouldn't have tried to escape. But Voldemort had still been considerate enough and left him with Hedwig, and even though her presence was more comforting than being alone… nothing could compare to Voldemort being back,

"You took ages."

Voldemort stepped towards him, then brushed his fingers through his hair. He loved the feeling of his fingers against his scalp, parting his hair; it made him all tingly and warm. Voldemort didn't notice his dozy expression, and he seemed to be searching for something in his hair,

"What are you looking for?"

Voldemort made a thoughtful sound,

"Your wound is healing nicely."

Voldemort was silent for a moment, but Harry could hear what he wasn't saying…He was healing and soon enough he'd have to go back to Hogwarts and pretend that everything was sunshine and rainbows…when it wasn't… It wasn't…

Would Voldemort really allow him to leave though or would he simply snap his neck like he'd done with the magpie? He was surprisingly fine with the second option since he'd had some time to brood on it. Initially it had terrified him but now…now it didn't…It would actually be a mercy if Voldemort killed him at the end of this because he couldn't…he couldn't imagine going back to life again…

Voldemort brushed his fingers against his lips as he spoke,

"Come and help me with lunch."

Harry let out an internal sigh of relief as the air between them grew lighter again,

"I'm not chopping the onions."

Voldemort chuckled,

"But you are so good at it."

Harry countered,

"How about you do the onions, and I do everything else."

Voldemort frowned,

"You cannot stand for long."

He argued,

"I can stand long enough to make…"

Voldemort finished,

"Tomato Bruschetta."

"Yeah, that."

"Okay, I will chop the onion, and talk you through the rest of the dish."

Harry smiled,

"Deal."

* * *

It wasn't easy to stand in the kitchen with his head that kept spinning… After Voldemort had finished the onions, he hovered behind him, ready to catch him if he fell. A few times he held on to his hips, seemingly to steady him, but Harry suspected it was just an excuse to touch him.

Voldemort had turned the radio on today and Harry enjoyed the background noise that the music provided. It distracted him from the thoughts that lurked at the dark corners of his mind.

A song came on the radio, and then Voldemort stiffened, then flexed his hands on his hips,

"What is it?"

"I quite like this song."

Voldemort tugged him away from the counter,

"I'm chopping the tomatoes…"

"In a minute,"

Voldemort said, encouraging him to turn. He ended up wrapping his arms around Voldemort's neck, and Voldemort held on to his lower back. Voldemort's gaze found his lips, and he stared at them as they swayed to the music. Heat flared through his body, a nervousness took over him, and he thought of something to say to break the charged atmosphere,

"I didn't know the fearsome Dark Lord could dance."

Voldemort ignored him and snaked his hand up to the back of his head, applying pressure. Harry thought he was going for a kiss and stiffened in anticipation, but instead he held his head close, so their cheeks were together as they swayed.

Without Voldemort's gaze, he relaxed into his hold, allowing himself to be rocked back and forward in time with the song. Voldemort's steady heartbeat calmed his rampant one, and he ended up closing his eyes, clinging onto Voldemort's neck.

When the song finished, and the next one started, they kept holding on and swaying. It was only when the advertisements came on the radio that Voldemort lessened his grip. He kissed Harry's cheek, so close to his lips they tingled at the contact. Voldemort still had his arms around him, still held onto him as their gazes met. His heart punched into life again, and he thought about how easy it would be to lean in. To apologize for the ugly swelling on his lip by kissing it better. His stomach grumbled against Voldemort's. They both looked down, and Voldemort smirked.

"That's one way to break the atmosphere…"

Harry detached himself from Voldemort and clung onto the counter. He took a few deep breaths, feeling Voldemort's gaze on him, then managed to calm down.

"You need to stop doing that."

Voldemort asked in mock innocence,

"What?"

"Trying to kiss me, complicating things, confusing this."

Voldemort leaned back against the table,

"There are no complications on my side, but just to make it absolutely clear. I want you, Harry, all of you."

Harry shook his head,

"You can't have me."

Voldemort sighed,

"And you want me, too, so ask yourself, who is the one being complicated and confusing things?"

Harry wanted to cry out in frustration. How did Voldemort know him so well? How did Voldemort manage to unnerve him so easily? He stared at the stove,

"It's not going to cook itself."

Voldemort smirked,

"Very true."


	28. Chapter 28

Harry fried the tomatoes, garlic, and onion, toasted the bread, then served it up with a sprinkling of rocket. He wasn't a natural chef, but it at least looked edible.

He grinned when he presented it to Voldemort, and they both sat down at the table, like they'd done every day for the past few days. They ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He was content being near Voldemort, especially after he'd been gone for hours. Voldemort finally spoke,

"Thank you for making me lunch…"

Harry blinked out of his blissful feeling and glanced at Voldemort on the other side of the table. He'd just made him lunch and hadn't even thought about using the knives as weapons or attempting to slip something in Voldemort's meal. He'd made Voldemort a meal, because he'd wanted to. He wanted to sit down opposite him, and Voldemort to compliment him.

"Harry?"

He lurched forward, shaking his head,

"Sorry, my head…"

"Have you taken your potions yet?"

Harry frowned. It had been more than twelve hours since he'd had the last one, so he couldn't even blame his complacency with Voldemort on the potions in his system. Voldemort reached across the table, pressing his hand to Harry's forehead,

"Are you feeling well?"

"Yeah, I'm fine… Do you mind if I go back to the room?"

"You do not have to ask."

Harry got up and hurried out of the kitchen. He'd memorized the corridors now and in no time, he found himself on the bed again, staring up at the ceiling. He only had to think about all the awful things Voldemort had done to remind him of who he actually was, but he couldn't do it. The Voldemort he knew was different from the monster that had done all those things.

Harry growled out in frustration,

"No, he's not… It's all a game to him, and I'm losing."

He struggled to sort through his mash of feelings. How could he like someone he was fundamentally supposed to hate?

Harry didn't know how much time had passed, but Voldemort came into the room. For a few moments, he felt him stand in the doorway. Then finally he walked up to the bed and towered over him. He was handsome… His eyes…his lips… his sharp features…his hair…Everything about him was so refined and immaculate…Well everything except for the bump on his lip. Harry closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at him; it was hard enough working out his emotions without adding lust to the mix.

He felt him vanish, and Harry let out a long sigh, reopening his eyes. He regretted it when Voldemort reappeared almost instantly and got into the bed. He shuffled up, then rolled on his back next to Harry.

"There is something I wanted to show you."

He held something up, blocking Harry's view of the ceiling, and his eyes readjusted on a photograph.

A tattered black and white muggle photograph of a dark haired boy, and a magpie perched on his hand. A boy with big eyes and a smile that showed off his teeth. Harry's lust vanished, but his curiosity doubled.

"You and the magpie."

"Yes."

He passed the picture to Harry, and he held it above them carefully, afraid that he might damage it,

"There really was a magpie?"

"What did you think I was on about?"

"I don't know, I thought you were just telling me a story to get in my head… trying to torment me."

"Not everything is about you."

Harry's lips twitched into a lopsided smile, and he snorted,

"You look happy?"

He said, with his attention fixed on Voldemort's mouth. His smile dazzled, lifting his cheeks, framing his eyes.

Voldemort whispered,

"I am happy."

"I mean the haircut is … tragic."

Voldemort laughed,

"It was fashionable, the whole choppy, uneven look."

"Did you do it yourself?"

"No, no, I did not,"

Voldemort said, poking Harry with his elbow,

"And you have no right to comment on my hair cut. Your hair is a mess at the moment."

"Cut them short then."

Voldemort shook his head as he entwined a stray curl around his finger,

"I rather like it this way."

Harry moved his attention to the magpie. Not the battered one he'd pictured in his head, with missing feathers and sore patches. It was huge, and the white feathers of its chest contrasted with the oil-slick black ones of its tail.

"Wait, who took the picture? You said no one knew about it."

"There was a girl that worked at the orphanage…Martha… She noticed I'd been acting strangely, That I'd been disappearing to the shed at every opportunity. She probably feared I was up to something terrible, given my reputation. One day when she opened the door, and I explained, she was so relieved, then impressed."

Voldemort sighed,

"I don't know why, but her being impressed about the magpie made me feel good… I explained about how I splinted his wing with sticks, and caught it worms, and snails. I told her I washed it, stroked it, and it had become affectionate. She tried to touch it, but it squawked, scared of her, that made me feel even better. It was loyal to me. It was our bond, still wild to others, but tame to me."

"I knew it. I knew you weren't completely heartless like you sai…"

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions. You know how it ends. The magpie won me over, that's all. At first, I'd wanted to heal it, so we'd continue playing our game with the eggs, but then I manipulated it, made it get attached to me. I wasn't expecting it to go both ways. I wasn't expecting to want to keep it, to enjoy it sitting on my shoulder, or it grooming my hair, or feeding it, but I did."

"Then what happened?"

"One day, I showed Martha how it could fly again, and she said it was ready to be released. I should let it go; it was the right thing to do. For a ten-year-old boy, who knew he was different, not quite right, not like everyone else, all I wanted to do was to fit in. That overwhelming desire to appear normal, to do something normal, for the right reason, but I didn't want to let it go. I didn't want to say goodbye. It was like losing a piece of me."

Harry whispered,

"I know the feeling…2

"I didn't sleep for days, caught between what I wanted to do, and what I knew was the right thing. Just because I'm different, doesn't mean I wanted to be. I wanted to feel the same way about death, love, cruelty, affection as everyone else, but I was twisted, something inside me was twisted. I wanted to keep the magpie, but I wanted to be normal as well."

"What did you do?"

"I killed it."

"Do you regret killing it?"

"What's the point in regret? I did it."

"But you cared about it."

"Still killed it though."

Voldemort sighed, taking the picture from his hand and vanishing it,

"So, there it is, there's the magpie. It was only fair I showed you this after I'd told you the story."

He spoke softly,

"Thank you."


	29. Chapter 29

After vanishing the photograph Voldemort rolled to face Harry. It took Harry more of an effort, but he turned on his side, facing Voldemort. There was no wolfish smile, or amusement in Voldemort's eyes, only sadness. Harry focused on his swollen lip, the ugliness he'd put there. He reached tentatively, cupping Voldemort's cheek, then brushed his thumb against the puffy flesh.

Voldemort licked at the cut, catching the pad of Harry's thumb.

"I shouldn't have hit you. I'm sorry."

Voldemort smirked,

"Have you forgotten who I am, what I've done?"

"No, sometimes I wish I could, then maybe I wouldn't feel so … guilty."

"Guilty? Why do you feel guilty?"

He didn't know. He was lying next to his captor, in a room that was decorated with the memories of his failure, and Voldemort's triumph, the most horrific kind of triumph, but when he looked at him, he saw Voldemort as an illusion, the handsome man with a monster mind, but beyond that, there was someone else, someone Harry connected with, his confidant, his secret keeper, an end to his loneliness.

"Because I like you, and I feel guilty for liking you, not hating you, and I feel guilty for lashing out at you when you were only trying to calm me down. I feel guilty lying next to you now, knowing what you've done. So yeah, the by-product of everything spinning in my head, is guilt."

The words rushed from his mouth, and only doubled his guilt, tripled it, made it so unbearable he verged on a breakdown. Voldemort seemed to notice his inner conflict and pressed his hand to his, still against his cheek,

"It's okay, what you're feeling is normal."

"Normal?"

"Well, normal for this highly unusual situation."

"Feeling guilty all the time is exhausting."

"Then stop."

"Like it's that easy."

Voldemort lifted his shoulder in a shrug,

"I would not know; I don't feel guilt. But I have heard of the phrase guilty pleasure. I think I might be yours."

Harry's throat tightened,

"Maybe you are."

"Why not indulge in it completely?"

"I'll feel worse afterwards."

"You don't know until you try."

They gazed at each other; Harry felt the puff of Voldemort's breath against his thumb and saw the pupil in the center of his soft brown eyes expand. When Voldemort leaned forward to press a kiss to Harry's lips, he didn't dodge it. He shut his eyes and accepted it, but didn't kiss back. Voldemort nudged Harry's cheek with his nose, then brushed his lips against Harry's as he spoke,

"Kiss me."

He slipped his hand down from Voldemort's cheek, to his firm chest,

"I can't cross that line."

"There's only a line if you've drawn one. I certainly haven't."

"There is a line: you're a murderer and I'm the boy who lived."

"Not here, we're not. We are just two people that want to know each other completely."

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his nose to Voldemort's. He couldn't help it, nor could he help the frantic beat of his heart, of his blood flowing south. Having Voldemort so close felt intoxicating, his scent, his heat, his lips so close.

"It's not right,"

Harry whispered, but it didn't stop him from pressing his mouth to Voldemort's, a quick touch just to see what it was like. Voldemort's lips were soft, warm, and he returned the kiss. He could smell his wonderful distinct scent that made his gut squirm in the most addictive kind of way,

"Imagine we met in a club, you know nothing about me, and I know nothing about you."

"But that's not how it is."

Voldemort gripped his hip, and the touch burned, making him shiver and rock his body in Voldemort's direction.

"I said imagine. Now I've taken you back to mine, and we both know what we want, we both know where we're heading."

"I can't…"

Harry said, pushing his hand against Voldemort's chest. Voldemort glanced down at his hand and then lifted it. He curled each of Harry's fingers, except his ring finger, then sucked it into his mouth, all the way. Harry gasped at the suddenness, and the wet heat around his finger.

Voldemort didn't break eye-contact, and Harry felt his tongue, the slight suction and it went straight to his groin. He shivered, staring deep into Voldemort's dark eyes.

Voldemort pulled Harry's finger back out. He was panting, too turned on and frustrated to care about anything but having the wet heat of Voldemort's mouth around his finger again. Voldemort picked up on his desire because the next thing he knew Voldemort was sucking his finger back into his mouth

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up, and another shivery wave travelled through him. Even though he knew it shouldn't… it felt good and fuelled his arousal.

Voldemort moved his lips higher before digging his teeth in. Harry's heavy breathing got worse, and embarrassed heat surged into his cheeks. He was so horny he was hyperventilating, so desperate he was prepared to overlook all the bad, for a quick moment of something good.

When Voldemort removed Harry's finger from his lips, Harry focused on the teeth indents, right where an engagement ring would have been and he couldn't help but feel as if Voldemort had branded him, marked him, and although the marks would fade, he knew he wouldn't forget. He'd been freed from a lie but was trapped in the truth. He wanted Voldemort and he wanted him badly.


	30. Chapter 30

Voldemort pushed his trousers down, freeing his neglected cock. The first touch was almost too much, and Harry trembled, groaning softly. Voldemort swiped his thumb against the head of his cock, applying light pressure at the slit until moisture escaped, pre-cum that he circled back into the head, making him writhe and whine. It kept coming, making him wetter, more receptive to Voldemort’s circling thumb. He wasn’t going to last, was amazed he’d managed to keep it together. Voldemort leaned closer to his ear and whispered,

“We both know the real us… There is no line between us.”

Harry nodded, giving in. He wanted desperately to touch, and to be touched, and blocked out the niggling voice at the back of his head. He ran his hand down Voldemort’s body, finding the top of his pants. It was easy to pull them down, and when he realized Voldemort wasn’t wearing any underwear too, he bit his lip to stop a broken moan.  
Harry took hold, and as soon as the hot weight was in his hand he swallowed and shivered at how good it felt. Voldemort’s cock was silky smooth. The head was wet and wide, and his lashes fluttered when he thought of it entering him, breaching him, pressing its heavy weight on his body until it was accepted inside.

One light tug and a shudder ran up Voldemort’s body, his chest hitching under Harry’s testing touch, and Harry’s stomach fizzled. Voldemort was panting into his open mouth. They were both staring at each other, gasping for breath, hands on each other’s cocks. Harry tugged again and watched another wave of sensation travel through Voldemort. His eyes momentarily closed, then flashed open, dark and devouring. 

Harry shifted closer, pushing his mouth to Voldemort’s waiting one. It was a kiss of sweat and blood, and Harry couldn’t get enough. Harry kissed until the tastes all blended, and it was their addictive cocktail of desire, wrongness, and relief.  
Their tongues curled, slowed, until the pace was leisurely, fleeting licks and swipes across slackened lips. Harry gave as much as he got back, and they pressed their foreheads together. As soon as they were no longer distracted by their mouths, they remembered their hands.

Voldemort started fisting him, fast and unforgiving. Harry increased the speed of his touches on Voldemort, chasing him as if it were a game of who’d come first. He let his guilty thoughts dissolve away, and all he could feel was Voldemort’s stiff cock, slick under his touch, his own cock tingling so intensely, so close to the edge of oblivion. It was messy, uncoordinated, full of wet gasps and desperate pants, but it was the hottest hand-job he’d ever given, hottest one he’d ever received.

Harry shoved his face forward, not to kiss, but to press himself into Voldemort’s throat. He breathed deep, getting drunk on his scent as he spilled into Voldemort’s hand. His moan muffled against Voldemort’s muscles, but Harry heard the shudder of his voice, wrecked and devastated by the sudden release.

He could’ve stopped stroking Voldemort… he’d finished, Voldemort’s hard-on was his problem… but Harry couldn’t stop. He wanted to finish Voldemort off, wanted to feel his cum splatter against his chest and soak his hand. Harry kept his face against Voldemort’s throat, closed his eyes, listening to the panting by his ear, the wet slide of his hand. It spurred him on, and when Voldemort tensed suddenly, Harry pulled back to see the orgasm wash over his handsome face.  
Voldemort closed his eyes, opened his mouth wider in a silent gasp, then shivered right down to his toes. His cock spurted hot cum against Harry’s shirt, and he looked down at it glistening on him, not repulsed, but pleased he’d done it.

Blissed out, satisfied, Voldemort looked even better, and when he smiled, his cheeks lifted, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. Harry stared at him, mesmerized, then smiled back, a real smile, small, but real, not a lie.

Voldemort laughed, prodding his swollen lip.Harry’s shock, or amusement, or whatever it was that made him grin ended. He stared up at the ceiling, preparing himself for the tidal wave of shame, guilt, and self-loathing, but it didn’t come.

The ceiling was blocked by Voldemort rolling on top of him,

“I’ve got you now.”

He looked happy, triumphant, like he’d won a game, completed a puzzle. And Harry realized that he had finally lost to Voldemort.  



	31. Chapter 31

Harry hadn't just crossed a line; he'd taken a huge two-footed leap over it. He told himself it was only lust, arousal, finishing in relief, that's all it was, but as he gazed at the bite mark around his finger, his stomach rumbled with unease. The wound was scabbed over. It looked better than the day before, and the day before that. Four days had passed since he gave into temptation, and although Voldemort didn't press him for more, or taunt, Harry felt it bubbling beneath the surface.

_He_ wanted more.

Harry sighed and moved his attention back to the crossword. He'd reread the clues several times, but nothing was going in. The last few days were on repeat in Harry's head.

They'd washed, they'd cooked, cleaned up; Voldemort had disappeared several times and Harry had spent that time watching the birds flying free through the binoculars. When Voldemort returned, they'd come together at night, no longer separately, but pressed together. Voldemort rubbed Harry's shoulders, played with his hair, comforted him, and frustrated him, too. Harry had no idea how to instigate more, and every time temptation almost got the better of him, he scowled at himself, and willed his desires to settle down.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Voldemort walked in… He was dressed in his black robes…The ones he usually wore when he was meeting his death eaters. Voldemort walked closer to him and leaned down to see the crossword.

"You've not done any?"

"It's hard."

"Well you're certainly not 6 letters, a person with special knowledge."

Harry scrunched his face, thought really hard, then wagged the pen at Voldemort,

"Expert."

"Maybe you are slightly improving … slightly."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair,

"I've been distracted."

Voldemort flashed his confident smile and then dropped the latest copy of the Daily Prophet on top of the one Harry had been staring at. He quickly flicked through the pages to get to the new crossword, ignoring the ordinary front-page headline.

"We should have a pasta dish for lunch…"

"Sounds good."

"And this for when you're ready."

Harry looked up and saw the bottle in Voldemort's hand. His confusion must have been apparent on his face because Voldemort spoke,

"It's lube."

He didn't comment, but he imagined his face said a thousand words. He felt hot, and sweaty, and that was the mere suggestion of sex. Then he looked down at the newspaper…trying to distract himself….

Voldemort added softly,

"Only if you want to… We've not got long left together…"

Panic flared inside his chest at being separated from Voldemort. Harry scrunched his face and began massaging his temples. Voldemort came up behind him and took over.

"I did not mean to stress you out."

Harry sighed, accepting his touch,

"Yes, you did… You wanted to stress me out."

"Okay, maybe a little. Time's ticking away … counting down."

"I'm doing my best not to think about it."

Voldemort moved his attention from Harry's temples, to his tight shoulders,

"We could have ice cream for dessert."

"Ice cream?"

"Yes…Don't you want any?"

"Let's not be too hasty."

Voldemort chuckled,

"Ice cream, brownies, chocolate sauce, cream, and a wafer."

"You're kidding right?"

"No… It's actually one of my favorite desserts."

"Your preferences are nothing akin to a Dark Lord's."

"Maybe I enjoy indulging myself in your presence…"

Harry rested his head on the table,

"You're spoiling me."

Voldemort agreed,

"I'm spoiling you, but only if you eat all your vegetables."

"You're such a patronizing bastard."

"Cursing is not allowed in my domain."

"What are you going to do, chain me up in the dungeons?"

"Don't tempt me."

Sometimes Harry thought things would've been simpler, if Voldemort had just chained him up in some dungeon. He wouldn't have started to like him and crave his company.

Voldemort let Harry's shoulders go. He moved to the sink, filled up a glass, then downed the lot in one. He conjured a set of letters and Harry recognized them as his,

"Your owl delivered them during the night when you were sleeping."

Harry clunked his wrist against the arms of the chair. Voldemort took notice and hurried to uncuff him.

"Sorry, sometimes I forget."

"Yeah, so do I."

When he was free, he leaned back in his seat and had just closed his eyes when Voldemort inquired,

"Does it bother you that I correspond with your friends whilst masquerading as you?"

Harry shook his head silently and after a while spoke,

"No…I'm terrible at lying."

Voldemort chuckled,

"You managed to lie till the end of your last term and kept my return a secret…You are a very capable liar."

He didn't reply to that and merely continued his silent brooding as Voldemort began to pen down the responses. It felt like a long time until he felt Voldemort gently cup his face and lift his chin,

"Do not get upset over what I just said…"

Harry opened his eyes and couldn't help but growl,

"It's the truth…Why would I be upset?"

He tried to turn his head, but Voldemort gripped onto him with both hands.

"Harry…You are very special to me and I do not particularly enjoy seeing you upset."

"I don't even know why I care… And for the record, I'm not special…If I were special, you'd let me say your real name, but you don't…"

Voldemort clamped a hand over his mouth, and he went silent immediately. For a moment, they just held each other's gaze and then Voldemort removed his hand from his mouth and cupped his cheek before speaking softly,

"Say it."

Harry gulped nervously as he looked down in his lap. He wasn't sure if it was a trap or not. Voldemort couldn't be serious…He'd told him in the chamber of secrets that he'd despised that name…

Voldemort caressed a spot underneath his ear and leaned closer to him until he could feel his breath ghosting over his lips,

"Say my name, Harry."


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently started being active on my Tumblr account so if you have the time then do check that out. The links here:  
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/quillbreaker

"Say it."

Harry gulped nervously as he looked down in his lap. He wasn't sure if it was a trap or not. Voldemort couldn't be serious…He'd told him in the chamber of secrets that he'd despised that name…

Voldemort caressed a spot underneath his ear and leaned closer to him until he could feel his breath ghosting over his lips,

"Say my name, Harry."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he whispered,

"T…Tom…"

Voldemort's hand vanished from his cheek and Harry opened his eyes hesitantly. Voldemort had moved away from him and he was standing in the doorway…It almost looked like he was about to leave. Harry spoke,

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't have…"

Voldemort's face was expressionless…his lips were pursed in a flat line and his eyes were just blank. He was about to get up to his feet when Voldemort spoke,

"Just stay there… I'll be outside."

Harry could only watch as Voldemort walked away. He banged his forehead against the table at his own stupidity and then cursed loudly at the wave of pain that consumed his head. He closed his eyes and waited for it to pass before lifting his head off the table and wondering about Voldemort's reaction. In all this time here, he'd never seen him that withdrawn before. It bothered him and worried him. And once again he cursed himself. He shouldn't have said his name.

His head throbbed and he knew that if he thought anymore, his headache would return so he tried to refocus on the crossword that was open in front of him. He read the clue out loud,

"Depraved desire."

_Lust._

The bottle of lube was still on the table, an open invitation to something completely forbidden. Harry rolled his fingers into his temples, trying not to think of sex or anything else but failing miserably. He turned his attention to the Sudoku puzzle, trying to remember what numbers were, but his blood flowing south, turned his mind to mush.

He didn't have long left with Voldemort. Was it so bad to indulge, to see what it would be like to give himself over completely?

Harry got up out of his seat and started making his way out of the kitchen and through the corridors towards the exit. It took him a while to locate Voldemort but by then his head was really starting to spin, and his breath was ragged from overexertion, but he needed that bit of pain. He needed some reason to stop even if his desire overrode it. Voldemort seemed to sense his slow approach, turning around. His brow tightened, and he shook his head.

"What are you doing? You're not well, Harry."

Everything turned dark for a moment but when his vision returned Voldemort was rushing towards him. He got to him just as he was about to fall and caught him by the hips, steadying him.

"What's wrong?"

Harry spoke,

"You shouldn't have asked me to do it if it hurt you that badly."

Voldemort's gaze softened as he held him still,

"No… You did not hurt me…I was just taken off guard by how wonderful my name sounded coming from your lips…"

Voldemort went silent for a moment and Harry waited for him to continue,

"I had always hated that name because it was so ordinary… I despised that… But it didn't seem ordinary when you said it. It felt special…"

Harry couldn't help but smile at that,

"So, I can say it then."

Voldemort nodded,

"You can."

That was enough to make him grab Voldemort's head and bring him down for a kiss. Not a gentle kiss, but one that was sure to aggravate Voldemort's almost healed lip. He grunted, and Harry sucked harder until he pulled away. Voldemort stared wide-eyed at Harry; shock clear to see on his handsome face. It was only the second time Harry had shocked him, and it felt good,

"Harry?"

He breathed out,

"I want you. No lines."

Voldemort widened his eyes and stared so deeply into Harry's he swore he saw straight to the center of his soul. Not the boy who lived and Lord Voldemort, but Harry and Tom, and Harry wanted Tom so badly it hurt, especially when he knew it was days until he'd have to return to Hogwarts and to him it seemed like hell now… He was going to hell, but he'd enjoy himself first. Voldemort inquired softly,

"You want me?"

"Yes."

"Then you've got me."

Harry yanked him down by his shoulders, lifting himself on his tiptoes in an act of desperation to kiss Tom again. As soon as Tom started to lead the kiss, Harry pulled his mouth away, starting on his body. He unbuttoned his silk shirt with shaky fingers and stared at the smooth, pale skin.

He could only reach Tom's pecs. He licked over the tight stretch of muscles, following the trails in his skin, the dips of his collarbone. Harry sank his teeth in Tom's flesh, feeling the shiver and the involuntary jerking motion.

He continued to bite, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave red dents. He could smell and taste Tom's distinct scent and couldn't get enough of it on Tom's skin. Tom's fingers found their way to his hair and he shivered at the blissful sensation, then fed his fingers through Tom's in return, and tugged hard.

Tom growled into his ear with lust and arousal dripping from every syllable,

"We cannot do this here."


	33. Chapter 33

Tom was walking him backwards in the direction of the castle. Harry's cock throbbed each step they took, and his heart rate soared. They all but stumbled through the corridors and Tom managed to keep a hold of him until they reached the kitchen again and Tom was hauling him over to the table. He turned him around, then pressed between his shoulders until his chest was flat against the tabletop.

He yanked Harry's jeans and briefs down, exposing his ass. Harry tried to rear off the table, but Tom pinned him.

Harry nodded, knowing Tom wanted him to stay right where he was, bent over, no shame, no embarrassment, only unbelievably needy. He moved his head slightly so he could see Tom, his focused expression as he stared at him while stripping off his clothing. He got the lube from the side, lathered his cock, then spread Harry's cheeks.

"How do you want it?"

Tom's cheeks were red, his brown eyes still filled with unmistakeable lust, and he stared at Harry with unmasked want. Harry managed to croak out,

"Rough… I want it rough."

It was sex after all, not love. He couldn't feel guilty about sex, at least not in comparison.

Tom's lashes fluttered, and a soft noise left his lips. Harry wasn't sure if it was a moan, or a curse, but Tom seemed pleased Harry desired it rough.

He pushed two wet fingers past Harry's rim with no apology. Harry cried out at the burn, curling his hands into fists on the table. Tom inquired,

"You sure?"

Harry nodded. He really was. He wanted the pain, the roughness, and Tom didn't disappoint. He took his fingers out, added more lube to them, then sank them inside again, stretching and loosening. Then he lined himself up, pressed his cockhead on Harry's opening until his rim stretched enough, then popped inside, and Harry let out a long moan.

Not only did his stretching skin burn, but Tom punched the breath out of his body with his thrusts. Harry clawed at the table, clinging on. The pain gave way to a dominating pleasure. Harry's body yielded, accepted the harsh treatment, willed it, until his prostate throbbed and his hard-on left smears on the table. The pain faded into insignificance, until Harry was a mewling mess, sobbing quietly, trying his best not to come.

Tom flattened Harry to the table with his chest. The scent of him, the breath on the back of Harry's neck, and the powerful thump of his heart were nothing short of intoxicating. The wet pants, the slapping flesh, and his nails scoring the table, Harry lost himself to the noises, trying his best to arch his back, lift himself, but he knew his efforts were feeble. Still, him trying, excited Tom, and he panted louder, holding Harry's hips harder, pressing down with his chest firmer, until Harry was completely incapable of moving. He was on the edge of letting go. Tom whispered into his ear,

"Wait."

Harry frowned. He couldn't have been talking to him, only himself. Tom stopped, eased his cock out, but still stayed plastered to his back. Harry panted,

"What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You stopped."

"Well, maybe something is wrong…"

Tom straightened, then maneuvered Harry on to his back. His head spun at the sudden movement and his vision blurred but it came back to focus when he looked at Tom. His eyes were dark with arousal, and his raven black messy hair and sweaty brow made him look feral. He spread Harry's legs, realigned himself, then sank inside. He closed his eyes and parted his lips as he pressed all the way in.

Harry preferred it the other way, not face to face, not romantic. He squirmed, doing his best to roll onto his front, but Tom shushed him, then reached for his throat. He pinned Harry to the table, pressure building, grip tightening, holding Harry's neck to keep him in place.

"Now this … _this_ is right…"

Harry should've been scared, feared what Tom was doing, but he shivered at the possessive hold, and his stomach fluttered. Tom restricted Harry's airflow, until black edged around his vision, closing in until he could only see Tom's face, then nothing at all.

He didn't know whether he'd closed his eyes, or whether they'd just given up seeing. Heat built in his skin, in his cheeks, behind his eyes, all through his body. He heard the wheeze of his body, the breathless gasp rushing in his ears, hearing it internally instead of externally.

There was a touch to his mouth, and he opened up instinctively to let Tom's tongue inside. He tasted even sweeter when he was clinging on to consciousness.

A heat so all-consuming and suffocating took over everything until his awareness started to fade. He couldn't recall his own name, let alone the man's pinning him down, and caressing his lips with poison. He needed air, but he wanted his kiss more.

His prostate tingled, his cock felt tight, overly tight, and the knife's edge he was on seemed to last forever, a build-up of euphoria he'd not experienced before. He started shaking, an involuntary tremble, and his mind spun, faster and faster, until he was dizzy with the pleasure of it all.

Only one thought surfaced from his cotton-stuffed mind: he was about to orgasm, couldn't warn or moan, could only do, and when the moment came, he slipped away, no longer able to think, only feel as his orgasm ripped through him.


	34. Chapter 34

He was floating high, so high he could only see the black of space when he stared straight ahead. Every sensitive tingle rushed to his cock, and he gasped at the force of his orgasm. The rush of pleasure was so intense it stopped his heartbeat, the muscle squeezing extra hard the beat after to compensate.

He was vaguely aware of the splattering on his skin, the pleased grumbles of the man doing this to him, those intense brown eyes… then air, so cold and welcome down his throat, he arched up, hit by another wave of intense pleasure as his cock twitched out more release.

He panted, and his panting was joined by someone else's. A red-faced Tom, with a sweaty brow and damp hair. He was easing himself in and out of Harry's tense body, milking the last drops of his orgasm. Harry hadn't even known he'd come, but he could feel the trickle of it escaping each time Tom rocked all the way in then out again.

Pleasure subsided, and pain came back. The pain in his rim, his throat, but the worst of all was the headache. He felt hungover and began rubbing his temples, only for Tom to pull out completely and take over massaging his head. Tom was panting like he'd been the one denied air.

Harry panted breathlessly,

"That… that… I've got no words."

Tom shushed him,

"I got a bit carried away…"

Harry wondered out loud,

"Why did it feel so good?"

Tom inquired,

"What?"

Harry whispered,

"I don't understand why it felt so good…You were choking me, but it felt too good."

Tom stared, eyes bugging from his head. The third time Harry had shocked him, he thought, before laughing. Tom spoke,

"Harry… I could've killed you."

Despite his headache, and the seriousness of Tom's words, he kept on laughing. Tom stared down at him like he'd lost his mind, and he was probably right.

"But you didn't… You will never kill me…I know that now…"

Tom leaned down and stopped his crazed laugh by kissing him.

"No…Why would I kill you once when I can kill you like that every day?"

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Tom pressed their lips together. Harry let him control the kiss, allowed Tom to suck on his bottom lip and let it go, to lick against the seams of his mouth, making them tingly and sensitive. It was a different kind of pleasure, a gentle one, cautious, but somehow even more invasive. Harry didn't accept kisses like the one Tom was giving him. He added more heat, more spice until it inevitably turned to sex, but he didn't push back, or demand Tom changed the tempo. He closed his eyes and enjoyed being caressed.

His back ached being bent over the table, his leg throbbed at the weird position, but it didn't matter. Harry had no idea kisses could feel good both physically and mentally, until Tom had him paralyzed by one.

Tom kissed along Harry's jaw, then up to his ear before he whispered,

"That was insane…"

"A good kind of insane, I hope?"

"The best."

Tom finished his worshiping kiss along Harry's neck, soothing the tightness he'd put there until Harry relaxed completely, letting out a blissed sigh. His hands continued to rub Harry's scalp, easing the headache, while his gentle kisses brought feeling back to his throat. Harry finally murmured,

"What are we doing?"

Tom breathed into his neck,

"I have no idea."

He leaned back, then looked down at Harry. He was close enough for Harry to reach, and he stroked his hand through Tom's dark hair, then brushed his thumb against his lip,

"Do you ever…"

Harry trailed off, shaking his head. Tom inquired, flexing his eyebrows,

"Do I ever what?"

"Do—do you ever think about keeping me?"

Harry held his breath, shocked that he'd said the words, and nervous over Tom's reaction. After a moment of silence Tom replied,

"Yes."

A rush of happy endorphins went to Harry's head, dissolving his headache completely. His pulse quickened, and the breathlessness made him unable to speak.

"But I cannot."

"Why not?"

"I have manipulated you… all the things you're feeling aren't real. It's a coping mechanism, a psychological reaction to stress—"

"So?"

Tom chuckled,

"You might like me now, but you won't soon."

Harry scrunched his face up. He knew that he had only a couple of days before he received his letter from Hogwarts and then he'd have to leave but he didn't want to go,

"I don't want to go."

Tom closed his eyes,

"You will have to."

"But…"

"No buts. We have a few days left, and then it's over. I will be the monster again and you will be the boy who lived."

Harry closed his eyes in a long, disappointed blink. Tom leaned down, pecking Harry's lips.

"But for now, we're Harry and Voldemort… No lines between us."

Harry whispered,

"No lines…"

"Exactly, now… I want to carry on kissing you. Is that okay with you?"

"More than okay."

Tom smiled,

"Let's move this somewhere a little more comfortable then."

Tom half carried him to the bedroom and Harry didn't protest when he laid him down and pressed into the mattress. He didn't swerve Tom's kiss or blurt out some excuse. He kissed back with the same need that he was being kissed with. A warm fluttery feeling grew in his gut, something that shouldn't have been there.

"Take me again…"

He said mid-kiss, half muffled by Tom's mouth.

"Right now?"

"Yes."

Harry rolled onto his front. His head still ached, and his hole still felt raw, but he needed it. He needed euphoria to white-out his mind.

Sex was simple; emotions were not. He finally pleaded,

"I need it right now…"


	35. Chapter 35

A lustful fever took over them. Once they'd started having sex, Harry found it difficult to stop. He clung onto Tom when an orgasm stole him, panting into his neck, taking the scent of him deep inside, savouring it when he knew one way or another, he was going to lose it. He was distracting himself, not only from the impending loss, but from the odd emotion in his chest. Tom had won the game of twisting his mind, making him attached.

* * *

Harry was laying between Tom's legs as he slid his mouth over Tom's cock. It was soft on his tongue, firm in his mouth. He sucked and kissed, and Tom panted as he fisted his hair.

Each time Harry got his composure, thinking he was winning in the battle, Tom would pull on his hair, stealing his thoughts and bringing him closer to the edge. Harry panted and heaved, got his bearings, then lapped and sucked until Tom lost coordination, and his rumbly groan vibrated from his throat.

It was a battle Harry never wanted to end, and he was pushed closer and closer to the tipping point. He moaned, and dribbled, and knew he was about to surrender, whining when he knew he'd lost, and Tom had conquered him.

He came hard, whimpering around the firm heat invading his mouth. He couldn't suck or lick while his mind was swamped in pleasure, Tom took over, and pressed his hips forward, he thrust his cock down his throat until his orgasm flooded his mouth.

When they finished panting, Tom rolled onto Harry until he was over him, chest to chest, beating heart, to beating heart. His breath tingled Harry's lips, and he lifted his head, encouraging what was about to happen, needing it. It started out as a filthy kiss, their tastes combining on their tongues, rough, demanding, but as it faded, Tom's swipes and sucks lingered. He took his time, and that fluttering feeling swamped him again.

For a man that couldn't love, Tom sure kissed like he knew what love was. Harry gave in to his leisurely caresses, hating them and loving them in equal measure. The kiss was a lie, and Tom had told him he'd never lied to him.

"Is your head hurting?"

The concern in Tom's voice made everything worse. It was a lie, Harry reminded himself. He didn't care if he was hurting…

"Harry?"

Harry breathed out,

"It's fine."

"Are you sure? You have not taken your potions for the past two days…"

Yes, it was hurting, but Harry needed the pain. It stopped him from breaking down completely. Harry murmured,

"I'm sure,"

Tom wrapped his perfectly toned body behind him, kissed the nape of his neck, then pressed his chin down firmly.

A constant weight that always seemed to lure Harry to sleep. He could feel Tom's strength, heat, smell him, feel his breath evening out after their intimacy. All of it felt far too nice and filled him with a sense of doom. He'd be without Tom soon, and that hurt far too much. Tom whispered near his ear,

"Relax, Harry, I've got you,"

Harry whispered back,

"But not for much longer."

Tom sighed softly before speaking,

"No, not for much longer."

"Because you need to conquer the world, more than you need to keep me."

Tom exhaled,

"Something like that. In an ideal world, I'd have both."

* * *

Harry didn't know why he woke. The dream started to fade before he could consciously recall it. He was lying on the mattress. Tom was behind him, heavy arm slung over Harry's side. Light was creeping around the edges of the curtains, and the only other light came from embers glittering in the fire.

He cautiously rolled, wincing as pain sparked to life inside his head, but making no sound. He stared at Tom, tense, waiting for him to stir and open his eyes, but he didn't.

Every line on his face stayed flat, relaxed. Harry was mesmerized by his long dark lashes, his lips that he knew from experience could kiss both soft and hard. Air whistled softly through his nose, in rhythm with the movement of his chest. As Harry looked at him, a fondness grew into something else in his chest. It was more terrifying and confusing than all his other emotions put together; even his guilt couldn't compare. It affected him physically, too. His insides felt fluttery, as if a million butterflies were flapping their wings. Although delicate and harmless individually, together they made a hurricane, in danger of shattering his bones and pushing them straight into his heart.

As he stared at Tom, he had a gutting realization: he couldn't see beyond the next few days. He couldn't picture the life he'd go back to, what would happen after he'd go back to Hogwarts. And he realized that he didn't want to picture it. There was nothing, end of the road.

Tom admitted he was manipulative; Harry knew he was. He also knew the stress, the pain, the hopelessness had all made him reliant on the man that had saved him. It was a psychological condition, but right then, there was no psychology, no power play, or mind-games. Tom was asleep and couldn't bend or twist the situation in his favour.

Harry lusted for Tom, relied on him, liked his company, grew anxious without him, but he had to know if love was present, too. He had to try with Tom unaware, only a press of lips to see if those persistent butterflies all dropped dead on contact.

He edged forward, his heart picking up speed, his stomach flipping. The fluttering in his chest didn't die. Harry pressed his lips to Tom's, holding the position, not moving, just resting, and listening to what his body told him.

What he heard from his heart was devastating. It wasn't just sex, or reliance, or the messed-up situation. Harry had completely and utterly fallen for the monster, the one he was about to lose, the one that compromised his morality and conscience.


	36. Chapter 36

Harry heard the distant sounds of pots and pans clanging somewhere… That was odd… Tom never made a noise when he was cooking. He did everything with so much finesse. He didn't even open his eyes though…Instead he tried feeling for Tom's warmth on the nape of his neck but there was nothing. That meant that Tom was already up… He was probably making breakfast… But then why was he making so much noise? The kitchens were at a great distance from their bedroom. The sound shouldn't reach him.

He turned over and buried his face in the pillow as the noise grew more raucous and it felt like it was painfully echoing inside his head, growing ever louder with every passing second. A groan escaped his lips as he raised his hands and covered his ears willing the noise to quieten…willing the excruciating pain inside his head to lessen.

In the meantime, he remembered what he'd realized last night…He remembered the utter devastation, that realization had brought him. Should he tell Tom? He wanted to…He wanted to tell Tom exactly what he'd felt when he had kissed his lips last night. He wanted to tell him what he felt for him… But the fear that Tom would shoot down his feelings and chalk them down to being present due to some psychological disorder was just too much.

He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped his lips as his thoughts evaporated and pain replaced them. He needed Tom. He needed him to make it better… There was no one else that could soothe his pain like Tom could and without thought he turned his head away from the pillow and screamed out his name over and over again until his throat felt raw.

He heard the door slam open and opened his eyes, expecting to see Tom…What he saw instead forced him to shut his eyes and scream some more.

This couldn't be happening…It wasn't happening… It was a nightmare…It was just a nightmare…He was still asleep. All he had to do was wake up. He could hear his heavy breathing and the sweat from his forehead was enough to fill an entire bottle. He just kept reminding himself that it was all a nightmare. It felt as if he might die from the pain in his brain as he desperately struggled to wake up, screaming for Tom to help him at the top of his lungs but Tom wasn't there…He didn't come…

Slowly…The pain started to ebb away again and it took him every ounce of courage he possessed to force his eyes open…comforting himself that the nightmare was finally over… He would find himself back in Tom's castle…in their bedroom… and any moment now Tom would walk up into the room holding his breakfast tray and apologize for leaving him all alone like that…

The sound of his hope shattering was deafening, and the shards flew everywhere and embedded themselves into his heart and his mind causing them to bleed and ache. His eyes quickly filled up with tears as he took in his surroundings.

He was back at Privet Drive…He was back where he'd been mistreated all those years and almost been murdered, and Tom had saved him… He was back…

His gaze stopped at the man, who called himself his uncle, standing in the doorway…No, he wasn't a man…He just looked like one…He was the real monster…He'd almost killed him and now he had the audacity to stand there and stare at him with that look in his mean eyes…That look that he'd seen so many time…The look that said that he was freak…

Another scream tore through his lips and he heard the door slam shut.

How could Tom do this to him?

After everything, how could Tom simply leave him here?

Tom just couldn't do this to him… He couldn't…

He couldn't even see past the blur of tears that had veiled his vision as he struggled to stop thinking about it.

Just thinking about Tom's betrayal caused him unbearable agony and his soul ached like hell. He curled up on himself and buried his face in his chest as a sob escaped his lips. Why was it hurting so much? He should have known this would happen. Tom had told him over and over again that this was a game. Maybe he'd finally grown bored of it.

The pain took over a portion of his brain, as if dealing with it was energy expenditure enough, without the effort of new thoughts. It was the sort of pain that burned, as if some invisible flame were held against his skin. He screamed out in agony and held himself tighter…

Why was it so difficult to handle himself? Where was all this pain coming from?

He had never experienced pain or betrayal this bad before. They lept at him all at once and ensnared him in their arms in an instant. Every memory of he'd shared with Tom…Every conversation they'd had… played like a haunting melody inside his head, repeating itself for what seemed like forever. He just felt so drained as he realized that he couldn't get Tom back no matter how badly he wanted him… And he did…Despite this betrayal, he still wanted him so bad because his life depended on him. He was gone though, and it felt like he'd stolen his heart and soul… Everything he'd shared with Tom had all vanished into thin air… turned to dust underneath his feet and now he was left with the memories…they were ash that surrounded him and covered him…

How was he supposed to stay alive?


	37. Chapter 37

He didn't know how much time had passed until he reached a state where he'd run out of tears and was now simply lying on his side and staring blankly at the wall. He'd stopped thinking a while ago because his mind felt like it had been beaten black and blue and throbbed with pain occasionally.

A knock on the door followed by his Aunt's annoying voice forced him to blink out of his miserable state,

"Your friends are waiting for you downstairs. They said that they're here to pick you up."

Harry bit back a scream before struggling to even out his voice and speaking,

"Tell them, I'll be down in a few minutes."

He heard his Aunt's footsteps retreat before burying his face in the pillow and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Tom must have known. He must have read the letter. That's why he'd left him here.

He gripped his hair tight and pulled on them in despair as he struggled to figure out how he was going to do all this again. How was he going to fake normalcy again? How was he going to pretend that he hadn't lived with Tom…slept with him… kissed him… fallen in love with him?

It was impossible…

But he had to do this…If he didn't…They'd know something was wrong and then they'd drill him for information, and he was so afraid that he might crack under the pressure and tell them everything…The implications of what would happen if he told the truth were accelerating inside his head. He wanted it to stop so he could breathe but they wouldn't. His breaths came in gasps and he felt like he was going to black out. His heart was hammering inside his chest like it belonged to a rabbit running for its skin. He tried to make everything slow to something his brain and body could cope with but it wasn't working. He felt so sick… If this kept up, he would surely pass out…

NO!

That was not going to happen. He wasn't going to let that happen… He was not going to allow it to come to that…

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep calming breath as he repeated inside his head,

I can do this…I can do this…I can do this…

Getting up from the bed was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do and his head spun a bit as soon as he attempted to take a step, causing him to seek the support of the wall and wait for the spinning to subside before making his way to the bathroom.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he almost didn't recognize himself. His hair had grown over the summer and the tips brushed his shoulders…

The memory of Tom pulling on them as he kissed him senseless played on the forefront of his mind and made his lips tingle…

He shook his head to clear away the image as he splashed water over his face and tried to practice his smile. He'd smiled with Tom effortlessly. A half sob escaped his lips as he remembered all the jokes he'd told him when he'd been sulking and Tom had wanted to make him smile.

Suddenly, he found it easier to fake the expression as Tom's jokes played inside his head.

When he was satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out in the room and looked around. A letter was placed on his nightstand and Harry felt a sliver of hope that it might be from Tom. He hurried to pick it up and realized that it was a letter from Hogwarts, probably telling him about the books and supplies he would need this year. He opened it hurriedly and found that It contained three pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year He was surprised to see that there were only two new ones. He folded the list and pushed it into the pocket of his jeans. Finally, he looked at the third parchment and he was shocked as he read what was written on it. It was congratulating him on being selected as Prefect…

He upended the envelope as the gold and crimson badge fell on the palm of his hand. A large 'P' was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.

Once upon a time he would have been ecstatic at this but right now…right now he only felt hollow. Whatever hope he'd left, died in his chest as he quickly threw all his stuff into his trunk along with the badge in a haphazard manner and walked out of the room…

He felt anxious as he descended the stairs and it only worsened when he stepped into the living room and found Mr Weasley, Ron and the twins seated on the couch opposite a very tense looking Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley. The atmosphere in the room was charged with uneasiness. Harry cleared his throat and watched the way Uncle Vernon jumped slightly… He was afraid of him…Now that was a first…But considering the fact that he'd tried to murder him and almost succeeded if it hadn't been for Tom…It didn't seem that odd for him to be scared. Maybe Tom had had a word with him.

Mr Weasley, Ron and the twins rose to their feet at the sight of him. Mr Weasley greeted him brightly,

"Hello, Harry…How have you been holding up?"

Harry stepped forward and shook his hand before hitching up a smile,

"I've been well…"

Mr Weasley smiled,

"I hope you've got your trunk ready?"

Harry nodded,

"It's upstairs."

Fred said at once,

"We'll get it."

He winked at him before he and George left the room. They knew where his bedroom was, having once rescued him from it in the dead of night plus they'd picked him up last year as well.

Mr Weasley, swung his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence in the room,

"I see you've fixed the fireplace…"

Uncle Vernon's face purpled, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.

Harry knew the Dursleys were remembering the last time The Weasley's had come to pick him up and demolished their perfect living room. He wished they'd done that again this year. The Dursleys deserved to pay for what they'd done to him. He swore he'd make them pay.

Ron walked up to him and patted him on the shoulder before inquiring,

"Your eyes don't look too good, Mate…"

Harry shook his head,

"I haven't been sleeping well."

Ron didn't seem satisfied, but he nodded nonetheless and then asked,

"Did you get the booklist?"

It was so difficult to keep his smile up as he spoke,

"Yeah…I got it…"

He didn't want to tell Ron about being made Prefect. At least not yet…

Fred and George came back into the room, carrying Harry's school trunk. Mr. Weasley finally spoke,

"Well, we should get going then."

He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. Harry saw the Dursleys draw back against the wall as one. Mr Weasley pointed his wand at the fireplace and spoke,

"Incendio!"

Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever. The twins were the first to go with his trunk followed by Ron…Mr Weasley was about to send him next when he spoke,

"You should go ahead…I have to say goodbye to my relatives."

Mr. Weasley patted him on the shoulder gently before stepping into the flames and speaking,

"The burrow."

When he was gone, Harry turned around to face the Dursleys and inquired,

"What did he say to you when he left me here?"

His uncle refused to meet his gaze as he spoke,

"Nothing… He just left you in your room and vanished."

Harry let out a disappointed sigh. That seemed exactly like what Tom would do. He fought back another wave of tears before speaking,

"Don't think that I've forgotten what you did to me…None of you are forgiven and I intend to make you pay for everything that happened."

And with that he turned around and walked into the flames. Throwing a fist full of floo powder, he spoke,

"The burrow!"


	38. Chapter 38

Mrs. Weasley greeted him with all her usual warmth but Harry wondered if she'd still hug him if she knew who he'd been in bed with. He hadn't failed to notice the inquisitiveness in her eyes as she'd inquired about how he'd been. Harry knew what she wanted to know, and he spoke as politely as possible,

"I've put that incident in the past, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes filled with tears and he once again, found himself being hugged. He would have found it comforting once but now…now it was nothing when he compared it how good and safe he'd felt in Tom's arm.

He silently uttered a prayer of thanks when something akin to a small explosion went off somewhere upstairs and Mrs. Weasley pulled away from him before shouting,

"If I find you boys experimenting again, I will…"

Ron stepped forward and spoke loud enough so that Mrs. Weasley could hear him,

"I'm taking Harry up to my room."

Harry knew where Ron's room was, but he followed him nonetheless because he didn't want to be around Mrs. Weasley. He didn't want to be around Ron either, but he was the better option. Ron pushed open the door to his room and Harry walked in. Nothing had changed there. The posters of the Chudley Cannons still covered the walls. Harry took one of the beds and sat down on it as Ron went over to free Pigwidgeon from his cage. Once he'd flown out of the window. Ron sat down on the edge of the bed opposite him and spoke,

"Look, Mate…I know you're tired of people asking you this, but I need to ask you…Are you really okay?"

Harry folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them as he thought about what to say. He knew Ron wouldn't believe him if he told him he was okay…But he couldn't tell him the truth either so lying to him was the only option he'd had left so he spoke,

"I told you I haven't been sleeping well…It's just that I keep having nightmares about Cedric."

Ron leaned closer to him as his freckled face was shrouded by pity,

"It must be terrible for you… But I'm sure you'll be okay when we get back to Hogwarts."

Harry felt so bitter inside at being subjected to such pity. He didn't need it. And he was certain that things would only get worse once he was at Hogwarts. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. Tom had stolen him away from himself and now he didn't know who he was anymore…It felt like he was a stranger in his own skin and all these people that cared about him…they didn't really care about him…they cared about the person whose skin he was inhabiting and he couldn't be that person ever again…He could never be that person again because he could barely remember him…All he could remember was Tom and all the things he'd done with him…That's all he could remember.

Ron's voice forced him out of his thoughts,

"Hey, Sirius said he was going to come by later."

Harry immediately stiffened at that…Sirius was still a fugitive in the eyes of the law,

"But why? What if he's spotted?

Ron ran his hands through his hair before sighing,

"That's what everyone told him, but he's been adamant on seeing you…"

Harry buried his face in his hands as he drew in a deep breath. He couldn't stand the thought of being with Sirius…He remembered the nightmare he'd had about him and he had to repress a shiver. He'd told Tom everything about Sirius…Tom knew how important Sirius was to him…What if he ever decided to use that knowledge against him? Had he been stupid enough to jeopardize Sirius's life?

Ron got up and sat down beside him before resting his hand on his shoulder,

"You need to stop thinking about it, Mate."

Harry wished with all his heart that he could stop thinking. He wished Tom had obliviated him before returning him. He couldn't live with all these thoughts and memories…They would surely drive him insane.

He resisted the urge to clutch his hair as he felt on the verge of another panic attack…

"Dinner is ready, Boys!"

Mrs. Weasley's voice saved him just in time and Harry let out a silent exhale as he pulled his face out of his hands. Ron rose to his feet and spoke,

"We'd better go down before she comes up."

Harry nodded silently,

"Just go ahead…I'll join you in a minute."

He watched as Ron left the room and when he was gone, he buried his face in the pillow and screamed as he fisted the covers. It was going increasingly apparent that he wasn't capable of doing this. He wasn't a 'capable liar' as Tom as termed him…

The sound of the door closing forced him to still. The presence of someone in the room with him was unmistakeable and Harry felt his heart racing inside his chest. Whoever was in the room with him had just seen him lose control…


	39. Chapter 39

Adrenaline flooded his system and his heart pumped and beat like it was trying to escape. He thought his heart would explode and his eyes were wide with fear as he kept his face pressed into the pillow. He was terrified of moving because he knew the moment he would move, whoever was in the room would see the tears in his eyes.

For a moment, there was silence and, in that moment, Harry focused on the sounds that were coming from downstairs as his heartbeat slowed down to something more bearable and the adrenaline rush wore off. When he felt certain enough that his face or voice wouldn't betray what he was feeling, he pulled his head away from the pillow and straightened up. The twins were standing in front of the closed door with their arms crossed over their chests and wore matching expressions of concern.

He wiped away any remaining moisture from the corners of his eyes as he rose to his feet but his head spun and for a very brief moment, darkness veiled his vision. When his vision returned, he found himself being held up by the twins. They didn't say anything but their eyes…They conveyed everything they were feeling. Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking,

"Thanks."

The twins released him, and Harry opened his eyes to test his footing by taking a few steps. Just then the door opened, and Ginny pushed her head in before smiling shyly at him,

"Harry…We're waiting for you downstairs."

He was about to speak when the twins beat him to it,

"We'll bring him down."

Ginny walked up reluctantly, and Harry was about to follow her when the twins blocked his path. Fred spoke up,

"We will talk about this later, Harry."

Harry forced his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he focused his gaze on his shoes,

"There's nothing to talk about."

Fred and George laughed humourlessly before George spoke,

"Yeah… We didn't find you in the middle of an emotional break down and you didn't black out afterwards…"

Harry looked up and met their gaze,

"It wasn't what it looked like."

The twins nodded but Harry could see that they weren't going to buy any of his lies. He breathed out,

"Can we go downstairs?"

The twins shook their heads together,

"Not before you promise to tell us what's really going on with you."

Harry groaned,

"There's nothing going on with me."

Fred clicked his tongue,

"Don't lie to us. It insults our intelligence."

Harry pulled his hands out of his pockets as he ran them through his hair and resisted the urge to stamp his feet in frustration,

"I'm not lying."

The twins stepped closer to him,

"Yes, you are. You've been lying since you woke up in the hospital wing after that incident."

Harry felt himself stiffen and that seemed to be all the confirmation that the twins had needed because Fred cupped his cheek,

"We had our suspicions, but your reaction just confirmed them…What really happened in the final task, Harry?"

Harry lowered his gaze as he felt his heartbeat quicken again… He could hear the blood thundering in his ears and his breaths growing shallower as the truth creeped up from inside his chest and lodged itself in his throat… choking him… Mrs Weasley's voice saved him though,

"BOYS…DINNER IS GETTING COLD!"

Harry felt the truth retreat into the deepest, darkest corner of his chest and he made sure to slam the door shut on it as he fixed his face expressions and was about to walk away when George gripped his arm,

"We will continue this later, Harry."

Harry yanked his arm out of George's grip as he spoke,

"There's nothing to continue."

He rushed out the door and down the stairs into the dining room. The table was all set and Harry made sure to keep a smile plastered on his face as he took a seat beside Ron and apologized to Mrs. Weasley for the delay. She'd prepared chicken-and-ham pie with boiled potatoes and salad, but Harry realized that he had no appetite. He had used to salivate over Mrs. Weasley's cooking but today it held no appeal for him. The twins joined the table and Mrs. Weasley took a minute to scold them before the meal started.

The food tasted like ash on his tongue and left him feeling nauseated. How could anything ever compare to Tom's wonderful cooking? He was fairly certain that nothing could even come close. Mrs. Weasley's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked up at her,

"Your hair is getting silly, Dear. I could give you a trim later."

Harry was about to reply when Ginny spoke up,

"I like it…"

She lowered her gaze immediately and flushed cherry red. Harry chose to ignore that as he spoke,

"I want to grow it out, Mrs. Weasley…But thanks for the offer."

The twins winked together as they spoke,

"Are you looking to impress all the girls this year?"

Harry toyed around with the piece of his pie on his plate,

"If that's what you want to believe."

He looked up just in time to watch as the twins shared a conspiratory look and Harry silently shook his head before cutting out a piece and stuffing it into his mouth.

His sexuality wasn't something he'd given much thought to. Last year he'd been attracted to Cho like a moth to the flame but now when he pictured her inside his head, he found nothing alluring about her. But it just wasn't Cho… He felt like he could never be attracted to any woman ever again and he knew it had everything to do with the way Tom had so thoroughly claimed him…He'd taken his body…but more than that…he'd taken his mind and his heart and his soul. None of those things belonged to him anymore.

A knock on the door forced him off his train of thought and Mr. Weasley spoke,

"I'll get it."

Harry already knew who was at the door and he felt so unprepared to face him.


	40. Chapter 40

A couple of minutes later, Mr. Weasley walked back into the room and Sirius followed right behind. He looked good. Sirius looked like he'd been holding up well. He didn't look as thin as the last time he'd seen him and his hair…his hair was well styled and lustrous under the light. His striking grey eyes shone when he looked at him and Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for his Godfather.

He rose to his feet when Sirius approached him. Sirius grinned wordlessly before pulling him into his arms and Harry couldn't help but bury his face in his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him,

"I missed you, Sirius."

Sirius held him tight,

"I know, Harry… I missed you too."

Harry stayed like that for a moment before pulling away and speaking,

"You shouldn't have taken the risk…What if you were caught? What would I have done then?"

Sirius cupped his cheek,

"It would have been worth it."

Harry pushed away his hand and frowned,

"No… It wouldn't have… I can't lose you, Sirius."

Sirius pulled him back into his arms,

"You won't lose me… I promise."

Harry closed his eyes as the nightmare he'd had about Sirius flashed in front of his eyes and he couldn't help the shudder that passed through his body.

Harry reopened his eyes and realized that everyone was looking at them. Sirius patted him on the shoulder gently before letting him go and spoke,

"Finish your meal."

Mrs. Weasley spoke up,

"Take a seat, Sirius."

Mr. Weasley conjured a chair and Sirius sat down next to him. When Sirius had his own plate laden with food, he asked,

"So, tell me all about your summer."

Harry wished he could tell Sirius everything that he'd been through, but he couldn't…No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't tell Sirius anything, so he lied through his teeth,

"It was boring as usual."

Sirius snorted as he stuffed his mouth with pie and then spoke,

"Tell me anyway."

Harry was astounded by the ease with which the lies rolled off his tongue. Tom knew him better than he knew himself after all. When he was done lying to Sirius about his boring summer, he asked,

"How is Buckbeak?"

Sirius was too busy helping himself to thirds and Harry could tell that he hadn't been getting enough to eat. He wished he had Sirius's appetite… It would be better than this bitter hollowness that had taken a hold of him.

Dinner went by quickly and Harry found himself going for a walk outside in the fields with Sirius. When they were a considerable distance away, Sirius spoke up,

"Do you trust Dumbledore, Harry?"

Harry turned to face Sirius and looked into his eyes to assess why Sirius had asked him that question, but his eyes were unreadable and a question of his own slipped through his lips,

"Why are you asking that, Sirius?"

Sirius looked around them before resting his hands on his shoulders,

"I think he's going to give me up to the ministry."

Harry searched Sirius's face for any sign that he was joking but when he didn't find any, he inquired,

"What makes you think that, Sirius?"

Sirius squeezed his shoulders before speaking softly,

"I've been nearly caught twice already… And no one apart from Dumbledore knew where I was…"

Harry pulled away from Sirius as he took a minute to absorb this new information. Finally, he asked,

"Does he know you're here today?"

Sirius shook his head as he pushed his hands into the pocket of his coat,

"Why would he do that?"

Sirius sighed,

"I don't know…"

Another darker possibility occurred to him…What if it wasn't the ministry that was after Dumbledore? What if it had been Tom?

"You need to be careful, Sirius…You can't risk your safety like this again."

Sirius walked closer to him and spoke,

"I needed to see you and I needed to tell you this because I don't want you to trust Dumbledore blindly."

Harry looked around the dark fields and his mind conjured up all sorts of bad things that could happen to Sirius,

"I won't trust him…You need to go."

The sense of impending doom was silently choking him and he knew it was irrational…He knew there was no one in the fields but the voice inside his head kept screaming and he couldn't get it to shut up. Sirius hugged him again and Harry looked over his back imagining shapes flitting around…shadows dancing in the dark… just lurking out of sight, ready to grab a hold of Sirius and steal him away. Sirius rubbed his back,

"Harry, calm down…"

Harry hadn't even realized that he'd been hyperventilating until Sirius had spoken. He made an effort to calm his breathing, but it was futile because something was wrong…Everything inside him was screaming that something was wrong.

His suspicions were proved true when a distant shouting caught his attention… It was coming from the burrow and it didn't take a lot of imagination for him to understand what was going on,

"You need to go, Sirius…GO NOW!"

Sirius pulled away from him and Harry watched as he tried to apparate and failed. Sirius cursed,

"They've put up anti-apparition wards."

Harry glanced around the field before speaking,

"Run."

Sirius was about to run when a flash of red narrowly missed him. It was followed by more shouting and more couldn't believe he didn't have his wand. Sirius fired back a few spells but it was obvious that they were severely looked at him and Harry knew what he was going to do just by looking at his face.

Sirius raised his hands and shouted at the top of his lungs,

"I GIVE UP!"


	41. Chapter 41

Harry was left staring into space in quiet disbelief after the ministry officials had dragged away Sirius and Mr. Weasley. If it hadn't been for the twins holding him back, he would have fought. He'd struggled against them…kicked and punched but they'd held onto him…They were still holding onto him, but all the fight had just left him. Their grip on his arms was the only thing keeping him upright now otherwise he would have crumbled down to his knees.

Mrs Weasley's hysterical sobs were playing in the background and Harry could only wish he could cry like her, but he didn't have any tears. His eyes were as dry as the desert. The twins were steering him somewhere, but he no longer cared. He was sat down on a bed and a glass of water was being held to his lips. He pushed it away but Fred spoke,

"Just drink."

He took a few sips and then pushed away the glass. He felt the twins settle down beside him and heard them speak,

"It'll be alright."

Harry shook his head as he stared blankly at the floor,

"No…It won't be…"

It wouldn't be alright…Nothing would be fine…

His heart began to beat out of his chest as his mind finally accepted that Sirius had really been arrested and what would happen now…The ministry would surely order the dementor's kiss on Sirius… His head was a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing my mind into blackness…

NO!

The realization forced him to his feet and he rushed out of the room towards the one he was sharing with Ron. He was glad to see that Ron wasn't there. After closing the door and locking it, he grabbed a piece of parchment, a quill and an ink-pot and got to work.

If anyone could save Sirius, it was Tom and he hoped and prayed that Tom would. If Tom didn't then Sirius was as good as dead.

He wrote down a short letter in which he begged him to save Sirius's life, attached it to Hedwig's leg and sent her on her way.

It was foolish of him to think that Tom would give a damn about him but what else could he do. Tom was his only hope. Somehow what Sirius had told him right before he'd gotten arrested kept playing at the forefront of his mind. Dumbledore had been trying to get Sirius arrested. But why would he do that? It didn't make any sense but deep down he knew that it was the truth. The fact that Dumbledore had forced him to return to his abusive relatives year after year was the reason, he knew that Dumbledore wasn't the man he claimed to be.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, but it didn't work. He couldn't rest until he knew that Sirius was safe.

He heard the lock click and wasn't the least bit surprised when the twins stepped into the room,

"Just leave me alone."

The twins shook their heads and spoke,

"Mum's gone to the ministry. She said that Dumbledore was going to meet her there…He won't let anything happen to Sirius."

Harry couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped his lips,

"Do you really believe that?"

A look of understanding dawned on the twins faces and they spoke together,

"You don't believe in Dumbledore anymore."

Harry let out a derisive laugh,

"I don't know what I believe anymore… It's all so muddled up."

He was taken off guard when the twins stepped closer to him and wrapped him up in their arms as Fred whispered into his ear,

"We stopped trusting that old man a long time ago…"

He pulled away from them and stared at them in shock. George went to the door and locked it before casting something on it as Fred continued to speak,

"We don't think he's capable of saving Sirius or our dad… He probably doesn't want to…"

Harry couldn't help but ask,

"Sirius said that Dumbledore was trying to get him arrested but he didn't know why…Do you know why?"

A dark look stole over the twins' faces as they spoke,

"Yes, we do."

Harry rose to his feet and whispered,

"Tell me."

The twins exchanged a dark look before George spoke,

"His position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was being threatened for aiding and abetting an escaped convict… He's just trying to save his position…"

Harry cursed,

"If you knew that then why didn't you stop Sirius from coming?"

Fred sighed,

"We tried getting a message to him, but he's been moving quiet a lot and it's been difficult to track him."

Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands,

"What are we going to do now?"

The twins remained silent and Harry pulled his face away from his hands and looked up at them questioningly. They finally replied,

"For now, we have to wait till morning."

Harry collapsed back on the bed,

"I can't wait…"

Fred rested his hands on his shoulders,

"You have to…Once we know where Sirius is being kept, we can break him out."

Harry hoped it didn't have to come to that but waiting till the morning was inevitable in any case. He knew he wouldn't receive a reply from Tom till the morning, that was if he decided to reply at all. There was a chance that his letter might be ignored. Well, in that case, he had the twins.

There was no way, he was going to let Sirius die. He was going to save him whether anyone helped him or not.


	42. Chapter 42

The sun took ages to come up…It took so long that for a moment Harry was sure that the night was never going to end, and he'd be trapped in the darkness forever. But it did end, and Harry was grateful for that. He was laying on the bed with his legs dangling off the edge, staring blankly at the ceiling when the tapping on the window forced him to his feet.

A rush of relief surged through his body when he realized that it was Hedwig. He opened the latch hurriedly and untied the letter from her leg with trembling fingers. Taking a deep breath, he ripped open the envelope and took a moment to just stare at the folded piece of parchment. Hoping against hope that the words written on it were in his favour.

His knees felt ready to give way, so he stumbled to the edge of the bed and dropped down on it as he unfolded the piece of parchment and started reading the letter,

_Harry,_

_I cannot guarantee that your Godfather shall go free any time soon, but I can ensure that he gets a fair trial and is sent to Azkaban instead of being subjected to the Dementor's kiss. In due time, when I decide to free my death eaters from Azkaban, your Godfather shall be freed along with them. Rest assured, your Godfather shall not be harmed. All I require from you is your trust and cooperation._

_There is something that I require you to do for me. When you go to your Godfather's trial, you must go down to the Department of Mysteries and retrieve something for me. Lucius shall meet you before the trial and he will inform you of the details. I hope that you will not disappoint me._

_P.S. This letter shall burn within ten minutes of being opened. Don't burn your pretty fingers. That would be such a waste._

Just as soon as Harry was done reading the last part, a small spark lit up the corner of the letter and Harry dropped it to the floor and watched it burn. Somehow, he felt like Tom's words had suddenly silenced all his doubts and fears regarding Sirius.

But the fact that Tom hadn't bothered to give him an explanation for just leaving him back at the Dursley's so abruptly upset him. Tom should have said something… It felt like that gaping wound inside his chest opened up again and Harry drew in a deep breath as he struggled to bear the ache.

Tom didn't owe him anything… In fact, it was the other way around. He was the one that was indebted to him and he would have to retrieve whatever Tom wanted him to retrieve from the Department of Mysteries. But the thought of meeting Lucius twisted his guts and nauseated him. Well, he'd just have to stand it for Tom.

Rising to his feet, he walked out of the room and went downstairs. He found the twins, Ron and Ginny in the small kitchen and they all looked up when he stepped in. Harry couldn't stand the accusatory glares that were cast his way by Ron and Ginny and walked back out towards the garden. It didn't take long for the twins to catch up with him and Harry heard them speak,

"How are you?"

Harry closed his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest,

"I'm fine…"

It was Fred that spoke,

"We found out where they're keeping Sirius…"

Harry shook his head silently,

"There's no need for that anymore."

The twins spoke up together,

"What?"

Harry opened his eyes and sighed,

"Sirius is going to be fine now."

The twins came to stand in front of him and inquired suspiciously,

"How can you be so sure of that? Did Dumbledore send you a letter?"

Harry focused his gaze on his feet and spoke,

"No… Dumbledore didn't say anything."

The twins grabbed him by both his shoulders,

"Then how are you so confident?"

Harry focused on a weed growing an inch away from his shoe and spoke,

"I just know…"

He wished the twins would just let the matter go. He wasn't in any mood to talk about this but there was something he could distract them with,

"What's the Department of Mysteries?"

The twins looked at him like he'd grown an extra ear,

"How did you hear about that?"

Harry cursed the twins' inquisitiveness and spoke,

"Just read about it somewhere… Tell me what it is…"

The twins crossed their arms over their chests as George spoke,

"Not until you tell us where you heard about it."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh before throwing his hands up,

"You guys are hopeless; I'll find out about it from someone else."

He was about to walk away when the twins spoke together,

"Wait."

Harry stopped and turned around,

"Are you going to tell me then?"

The twins nodded,

"We will but before that, you need to promise us that you won't let yourself get hurt by whatever you've gotten yourself involved in…"

Harry raised an eyebrow,

"What makes you think I'm involved in something?"

The twins smiled sadly,

"You're a good liar but you're not a great liar… Sometimes it just shows in your eyes."

Harry grinned,

"Are you saying that I need to work on my acting skills?"

The twins smirked,

"Something like that…Anyways, the Department of Mysteries is a section of the Ministry of Magic that carries out confidential research. Wizards who worked in the Department of Mysteries are known as Unspeakables because of the confidential nature of their work."

Harry felt his curiosity growing out of proportions as he wondered what Tom wanted from a Department like that,

"So, what kind of research do they do?"

The twins shrugged,

"We don't know…It's supposed to be top secret."

Harry pushed his hands into his pockets as he thought about the task Tom had just assigned him. After what he'd just heard about the Department, he could tell that it wasn't going to be a piece of cake.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a flustered looking Ginny rushing towards them. It was the twins that asked her,

"What is it, Ginny?"

Ginny turned her gaze towards him and spoke,

"He wants to meet you, Harry."


	43. Chapter 43

Since Ginny hadn't bothered to mention who wanted to see him, Harry had walked into the small living room of the Burrow expecting to see Dumbledore…But when he'd seen who was waiting for him, Harry steps had been forced to a standstill in the doorway.

Lucius Malfoy stood there in the small space in all his pureblood glory and exuded an aura of disdain so strong that Harry felt momentarily suffocated by it. The disdain somehow intensified when Lucius Malfoy's grey eyes settled on him. Harry walked into the room despite not wanting to and closed the door behind him.

Lucius pointed his wand at the door and then the windows as he muttered something under his breath before turning his attention back to him,

"I believe you already know why I'm here."

Harry could only nod silently as he lowered his gaze and stared at Lucius's shiny silver tipped leather shoes,

"There's a man…an unspeakable…His name is Broderick Bode and he'll lead you where you need to go when you arrive at the Ministry for your Godfather's trial."

Harry nodded again but he felt Lucius step closer to him and heard him whisper,

"You're only useful to him if you keep your mouth shut and obey…Is that clear?"

Before he could fully absorb that and respond, Lucius thrust a black journal into his hand,

"I was supposed to deliver this to you."

Harry stared at the smooth surface of the journal and was about to speak when Lucius handed him a letter,

"Your Godfather's hearing is on the twenty fifth…Make sure you're there."

Harry expected Lucius to leave but he didn't so Harry was forced to look up at him. There was a thoughtful expression on his face as he spoke,

"Why have you kept your mouth shut, Potter? I expected you to announce his return as soon as he spared you."

Harry looked up and met Lucius's gaze,

"You said it yourself…He spared me and that's why I'm indebted to him now."

Lucius regarded him for a moment before turning around and walking out the door. Harry looked at the journal for a moment and couldn't help but think that it looked exactly like the one he'd destroyed in his second year. The only difference was that this one looked new.

He knew that the twins were probably outside the door, waiting to hear what Lucius had said to him. He thrust the journal underneath the cushions of the worn out couch and opened the door. Just as he'd expected, the twins rushed in immediately and inquired together,

"What did he want with you?"

Harry pushed the letter towards them as he spoke,

"Sirius has a hearing on the twenty fifth. I'm supposed to attend it."

Fred tore open the letter as he read it and then handed it over to George before speaking,

"He's getting a hearing. Now that is an unexpected turn of events."

Harry settled down on the couch and tried to act surprised but couldn't pull it off. The twins settled down on either side of him and Harry immediately felt trapped,

"You already knew though, didn't you? That's why you were so calm this morning."

He shook his head silently and Fred spoke,

"You're lying… Just like you've been lying about everything else."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't have the strength to deal with this again. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back and rested his head against the back of the couch,

"You can tell us anything… We won't judge you…"

Harry struggled to find the words to speak but he was so sure that he'd regret saying anything. He couldn't tell anyone about Tom or what had happened between them. He didn't even know if he could trust the twins yet. For all he knew, they could be spying on him for Dumbledore,

"There is nothing to tell."

His fingers were already itching to touch the journal again mainly because he knew that Tom might have touched it some point. He was dying to know why Tom had sent it and whether or not it had something to do with the task Tom had assigned him.

There were so many questions buzzing inside his head that it made it difficult for him to breathe. Inhaling deeply, he struggled to find some semblance of calm and finally spoke,

"I need to be alone."

The twins eyed him with apprehension before getting up and leaving. As soon as they were gone, he felt like a huge burden had been lifted from his chest and he could breath easier. He grabbed the journal from where he'd hidden it and ran his gaze over it. He missed Tom…missed his touch, missed his kisses, missed falling asleep in his arms but most of all he missed not having to make decisions and the ability to be himself.

He carefully tucked the journal in the waistband of his jeans and covered it up with his shirt before walking out of the room. He just wished he had enough strength to get through this.


	44. Chapter 44

Harry lay on the bed with the journal placed on his chest as he stared vacantly at the ceiling. It was Sirius's hearing today and Harry hoped that what Tom had said would be true. Azkaban was better for Sirius than the dementor's kiss and Tom had assured him that he would free him from there as well.

But what if Tom had lied to him? What if Sirius was killed today? What would he do then?

He reached for the journal and on his chest and held it as he struggled to calm his doubts…Tom wouldn't lie to him… Tom had said that Sirius would get a hearing and he had gotten it. There was no reason for him to doubt Tom's words.

But he was still afraid because he couldn't afford to lose Sirius. Closing his eyes, he curled up on his side and clutched the journal to his. For a moment, he allowed himself the illusion of feeling Tom's warm, hard body pressed up against his back and his arms wrapped around him, holding him and making him feel like he was home…

He had no home…

The illusion vanished and Harry couldn't stop the sob that escaped his lips as he buried his face in the mattress and cried… Why couldn't just Tom let him live with him? Why had he made him feel all these things if he was going to ultimately discard him like a broken toy? He'd known he shouldn't have allowed himself to feel but he had and now he was all messed up.

It took him a while to calm himself but eventually, he managed and gathered the will to put himself back together. He took a shower and dressed up in one of his blue jeans and dark blue chequered button-up.

After that, he felt like his body was moving on autopilot until Harry stepped out of the fireplace and found himself at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that were continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were paneled in shiny dark wood.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

He felt Lupin and the twins appear beside him and they began moving. They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still, others reading the Daily Prophet as they walked. Harry felt the gaze of several people following. He heard people whispering his name and gathering confirmation from their nearby fellows whether it was really Harry Potter or not.

Harry felt sick as they reached the security desk. A badly shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached, put down his Daily Prophet. Lupin spoke up,

"We're here for the trial of Sirius Black and Arthur Weasley."

The wizard spoke in a bored voice,

"Come here."

Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back,

"Wand."

The security wizard grunted at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it,

"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use for four years. That correct?"

Harry nodded nervously,

"Yes."

"I keep this,"

Said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike,

"You get this back,"

he added, thrusting the wand at Harry,

"Thank you."

The man repeated the process with Lupin and the twins and then Lupin grasped Harry by the shoulder as he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates.

They made their way to the elevators and waited for it to arrive. With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back, and they all moved inside it with the rest of the crowd. Harry found himself jammed against the back wall of the lift. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously. He stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye. He just wanted to shout at them. Why couldn't people just mind their own business?

The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling all the while. Harry felt grateful as the witches and wizards exited at various levels. He couldn't help but tense up when Lucius Malfoy stepped into the elevator and spoke,

"Gentlemen, I'm sure you're all heading to Black and Weasley's trial… I hope you won't mind if I join you?"


	45. Chapter 45

Somehow, the moment Lucius stepped into the elevator, the air in the atmosphere grew thick with tension and Harry felt himself tense up as well. Lucius came to stand right next to him and spoke,

"I hope you're aware that the hearing is taking place in courtroom ten."

He didn't know why that made everyone in the vicinity stiffen and the question just slipped from his lips,

"Where is courtroom ten?"

Lucius's lips curved into a smirk and just as he was about to speak, the elevator doors opened and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in,

"Morning, Mr. Malfoy."

He said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend

Lucius turned his attention to the man and spoke,

"Morning, Bode."

And that is when it clicked in place…. Broderick Bode… This man was supposed to aid him in getting whatever Tom wanted from the Department of Mysteries. Harry noticed that Bode was surveying him unblinkingly and his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable.

"Department of Mysteries…"

Said the cool female voice, and left it at that. The lift doors rattled open, and they stepped out in a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead, they walked to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps. Harry noticed that Bode was making his way to the door he'd expected to go through.

They reached the bottom of the steps and moved along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes,

"Courtroom ten."

They came to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and stared at it. The others began to file in and Lucius spoke up,

"Mr. Potter… Since we have some time before the hearing starts… I would like to have a word with you."

The twins halted in the doorway and Harry spoke,

"Just go on…I'll be there soon."

The twins exchanged a doubtful glance before stepping in. Lucius leaned in closer to him spoke,

"Broderick is waiting for you at the entrance of the Department of Mysteries… You will do everything he says without question and return to me."

Harry was about to ask a question when Lucius narrowed his gaze at him so he simply nodded his head and ran the way he'd come. His heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple and he swallowed hard as he found Bode standing in front of the door and staring at him vacantly. The door swung open and Bode walked in. Harry drew in a deep steadying breath as he marched in behind him. They were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling; identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue; their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor made it look as though there was dark water underfoot.

The door closed behind them with an ominous click and became so dark that for a moment the only things they could see were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and their ghostly reflections on the floor.

Bode walked purposefully towards the door and pushed it open effortlessly. Harry followed his lead like a lost puppy and found himself in a room that was filled with beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. As Harry's eyes became accustomed to the brilliant glare, he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.

Harry's heart was pumping frantically now as Bode led the way down the narrow space between the lines of desks, heading for the source of the light, the crystal bell jar quite as tall as he was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind. As they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar. Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar, it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draught its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.

His heart was now pumping so hard and fast he felt it must interfere with his normal functioning. Bode pushed open the door and walked through it silently. Harry followed quickly and found himself in a place, high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold. Bode was already moving again and Harry had to run to catch up with him.

Bode was standing in front of a shelf staring blankly at one of the orbs and Harry couldn't help but walk up to him and take a look. The sphere glowed with a dull inner light, though it was very dusty and appeared not to have been touched for many years. He had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some sixteen years previously, and below that:

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter_

Harry stared at it as he wondered what his name was doing down here. He reached forward and he closed his fingers around the dusty ball's surface. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it. Expecting, even hoping, that something dramatic was going to happen, Harry lifted the glass ball down from its shelf and stared at it. Nothing whatsoever happened.

Harry, gazed at the orb as he brushed it free of the clogging dust and looked at Bode who was now staring at the door, they'd just come through… At that moment, he knew that he'd retrieved whatever Tom had wanted and now he was supposed to leave.


	46. Chapter 46

The victorious smirk that lit up Lucius’s face as he handed the orb to him five minutes later was something else,

“I confess I had doubted your usefulness Potter, but it seems that The Dark Lord’s trust in you is not misplaced. He shall be very pleased indeed today.”

Before Harry could inquire about the significance of the orb, the door opened and the twins stepped out,

“The hearing is about to start, Harry.”

He buried his burning curiosity for the time being and stepped into the courtroom with Lucius. Harry gasped; he could not help himself. The large dungeon he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, he had been here before. This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore’s Pensieve, the place where he had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell.

He saw Sirius and Mr. Weasley seated in the middle of the courtroom and couldn’t help the nauseating anxiety that threatened to engulf him as Lucius pushed him down to take a seat on one of the benches. He looked up at the people seated at the bench above. There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver ‘W’ on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others’ looks of frank curiosity.

In the very middle of the front row sat Dumbledore. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair sat on Fudge’s left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Dumbledore’s right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow.

Harry felt the bitter taste of betrayal fill his mouth at the sight of him. He wanted to scream out everything the twins had told him and it seemed Lucius had picked up on his impulse because he felt his vice-like grip on his wrist and heard him murmur,

“Do not ruin this, Potter.”

Harry drew in a deep breath and struggled to calm himself as the hearing started. Every time Dumbledore talked, Harry felt venom pumping through his blood. Every time he came close to losing control over his tongue, the thought of Sirius being kissed by a Dementor forced him to halt.

When the decision was announced, Harry couldn’t help but sag back in his seat as the emotional exhaustion finally took its toll on him. Lucius’s departing whispered words were barely audible but Harry still managed to hear them,

“Do not fret, Potter. Dumbledore will get what he rightfully deserves. The Dark Lord shall see to that very soon. In the meantime, play nice.”

When he was gone, he raised himself on his feet and walked to the center of the court where Mr. Weasley was being embraced by his children. He’d been acquitted of all charges and was free to go. Sirius was still chained to the seat and Harry could almost see the fear in his eyes as he looked at him,

“Sirius…”

Sirius closed his eyes and bowed his head,

“Harry… You should go before they come to take me.”

Harry felt his heart exploding with pain at the sight of utter despair on Sirius’s face. He knew why Sirius was afraid… He knew so well…He rested his hands on Sirius’s shoulders and spoke softly,

“You have to be strong for me, Sirius… You need to be strong for me because it will be okay.”

Sirius shook his head,

“Harry, this time I fear I won’t be able to escape.”

Harry covered Sirius’s bound hands with his,

“You won’t have to… This time you won’t have to escape, Sirius… Just trust me when I say that I will see you very soon.”

Sirius finally looked up at him and met his gaze,

“How are you so sure about that?”

Harry sighed,

“I can’t say right now but all I can tell you is that when an opportunity presents itself, don’t let your principles get in the way… There is no dark or light anymore, Sirius… There’s just no good or bad.”

Something like understanding shone in Sirius’s eyes and he was about to speak when he closed his mouth abruptly and his gaze zeroed in on a spot behind him. Harry turned around to find Dumbledore striding towards them with that somber expression that he had begun to resent and detest with all his heart,

“I wish it did not have to be this way… I have tried my very best not to allow any harm to come to you, but I know that you shall understand that I have taken this decision for the greater good.”

It took him everything he had in him to keep his face as neutral as possible when he spoke,

“I understand, Professor.”

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder gently and Harry felt his blood boil at the touch. He couldn’t stand it…. He couldn’t stand Dumbledore’s feigned goodness…Not when he’d finally seen what he was capable of.

His self-restraint was almost at its breaking point when the Aurors made their way to Sirius and spoke,

“Chief Warlock, may we have permission to move the prisoner to Azkaban?”

Dumbledore nodded silently and Harry felt his eyes burning up with tears. Sirius looked at him despairingly and Harry spoke,

“It will be fine, Sirius…It will be alright.”

Sirius just nodded and Harry took a step back as the chains vanished from around Sirius’s wrists and the Aurors hauled him up from the chair and began leading him out. He knew Tom would make good on his word but that did nothing to lessen the pain of watching Sirius go.

He wasn’t aware of his surroundings as his tears finally slipped free and the world around him blurred. Everything just seemed so hopeless and heavy and he felt so weak. The strength vanished from his legs and he collapsed on his knees as silent sobs racked his body.

How was he ever going to get through this?


End file.
